Matched
by WideEyedDreamer01
Summary: Voldemort was defeated, but at a terrible price. Two years on, the wizarding world is in tatters and the Ministry introduces a system to match wizards and witches based on their compatibility in a desperate effort to reunite the wizarding world. But when the unthinkable happens, Hermione finds out that just like the matching process, both love and hate are blind... Read & Review!
1. Appearances

**AN: I'll try to keep Author's notes short as they are annoying…So this is Matched, my first ever Harry Potter fanfiction. Please be gentle, I'm still trying to find my writing style. If you get confused at all, PM me and I'll be happy to explain anything causing you trouble.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series, it all belongs to JK Rowling. Enjoy & Review! **

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Hermione Granger had long since prided herself on knowing everything before everyone else did. It sounded arrogant, but it had always given her a thrill to think she knew what others didn't, that she knew what to expect, how to act and react to any situation. But now, sitting at her kitchen table looking down at the Prophet headline in disbelief, her untouched coffee in one hand, she couldn't believe she hadn't known about this. Studying the moving pictures, she moved her gaze to the bold headline that screamed at her, occupying nearly half of the front page.

"MINISTER FOR MAGIC INTRODUCES NEW MARRIAGE LAW".

"I can't believe it," she muttered. "They actually did it." Instructing herself to be rational, she perused the article once again.

_The Minister for Magic Kingsley Shackbolt has announced today that all European witches and wizards of marriageable age will participate in a matching ceremony, whereby each witch or wizard is matched to a suitable suitor based on compatibility. The announcement was made at midnight last night after figures presented by the ministry showed that the wizarding population of Britain has fallen a further fifteen percent over the past three months…_

"How dare they!" She said, almost angrily, getting up to pace the length of the cramped but cosy kitchenette, to do what she did best- think. Hermione was not stupid by any means, she should, of course, have expected a law of this sort to come about eventually. It had been two years since the Battle of Hogwarts, two years since peace had been extracted, but in the bloodiest, most savage way possible. Voldemort and his death eaters had ensured that the wizarding world had been forced to pay a heavy price in casualties for his extermination, and even now, clusters of Death Eaters still existed to terrorize wizards and muggles alike. A part of her knew that this law did have some kind of twisted logic- anything that would bring the wizarding community closer to unity once more would be welcome. But the larger part of her mind was outraged that they would even consider taking such a freedom away from normal witches and wizards. Hermione, like her two best friends, had accepted the offer to become an Auror after the Battle of Hogwarts, and was now a top cursebreaker who was equal parts feared and loved within the Ministry. Since her Hogwarts days she had also managed to get S.P.E.W integrated into ministry policy, becoming a major advocate for every magical creature's rights and freedoms- so it was hardly surprising that she had not been informed of the Ministry's decision.

A loud crack punctuated the silence, and even though it happened nearly every morning, the sound still made her jump. She peered out from underneath her messy hair to glare at one Harry Potter, who gave her a grin in return.

"Morning, Hermione," he drawled.

"You have a knack of walking in at the precise moment I'm trying to think," she grumbled. He didn't even have the decency to try to look remorseful, and instead began rummaging through her cupboards. Hermione scowled.

"You have your own apartment!" She cried in exasperation. "Merlin, does Ginny not buy food?" Not that you're exactly wasting away, she thought to herself, taking in his tall frame. Gone were the days of the skinny Harry Potter- now he was broad shouldered and there was muscle on his six-foot frame.

"She does," he managed around two slices of bread. "But your food tastes better." He winked. His eyes fell on the headline of the prophet, and he frowned, quickly reading the article.

"Blimey, Shackbolt!" He exclaimed, once the food had cleared his mouth. "That's got to be breaking some law, hasn't it? You can't force people to marry each other, right?" He checked. Hermione sighed in exasperation. She loved Harry dearly, but she did wish he'd pull his head out of the clouds-or away from Ginny's-once in a while and find out what was going on in the real world.

"Since when do you care about laws?" She shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Since you started making them? Oh, wait, you still don't." He smirked.

"Atta girl, 'Mione. But seriously, did you know about this?" He asked, nodding to the paper. She huffed.

"No I didn't," she said, knowing her voice sounded rather prim. Harry's eyes widened, but he wisely let it drop.

"I suppose the only way we're going to find out what's going on is to find out ourselves," she sighed. "Ron and Ginny coming over here to Apparate, too?" She asked, glancing at the clock. It was nearly eight, and she hated being late. Very often, Ron, Harry and Ginny would come over to her flat- they lived only minutes apart- to Apparate. Because she was a cursebreaker, her apartment was one of the few places one could Apparate from into the ministry. And because of the war-hero status, the Ministry usually looked the other way when Harry, Ron and Ginny used it too. He shook his head.

"No. Gin was up early to go out and chase down some Dark artefacts, and"-he grimaced-"I may or may not have put a spell on Ron's office last night preventing him from unlocking the door."

"Harry!" She exclaimed, fighting a smile.

"It's not my fault!" He said defensively. "If he would just do some sodding work every now and again and stop snogging Lavender, I wouldn't have to do it!" Hermione bit back a smile, and shook her head at her best friend's antics.

"Well then. Shall we?" He made her a rather over the top bow, and grinned.

"After you, madam."

"Ministry of Magic," she said, concentrated for a moment, and then felt the familiar, slightly nauseous feeling that accompanied Apparating. Moments later she was standing in the bustling Ministry foyer next to Harry.

"I love that," he said, grinning. "Who knew Hermione Granger would abuse her privilege in such a manner," he drawled, and she gave him an elbow in the ribs.

"Shut up," she said, trying to fight another smile.

"Will you walk with me to let Ron out?" He asked, his tone almost begging. "Please, 'Mione, he really did sound violent, and I'm not quite sure how to do the reversing spell properly-" She sighed.

"Fine, but I'm not pulling you two off each other again. Nor healing your injuries afterwards."

"Fair enough," he conceded, and they stopped at Ron's office.

"Ron?" Hermione called, and a voice was heard from within.

"Hermione? Thank god! The git locked me in again!" Ron paused. "Is he out there with you? Did he set you up to this?" She rolled her eyes.

"Ron, just step away from the door. I have to try a few spells on it, Harry doesn't quite know what he did to it."

"What did you say that for?" Harry groaned.

"Harry!" Ron roared. "You wait till I get out there, I'll feed you to a Hippogriff! And what do you mean, you don't know what you did to the door, you great big hairy git, you're going to"-Hermione mouthed a "sorry" to a few passing Aurors, and with a well-practiced flick of her wand, the door swung open and Ron came crashing forwards, having not heeded her advice to stand back. Ron straightened out, flicking his violent hair out of his eyes, giving her a brilliant smile.

"Thanks, 'Mione!" He exclaimed, and gave her a quick hug, but then scowled upon seeing Harry.

"Three times in the last month," he hissed, and in typical Ron-fashion, tackled Harry to the ground.

"Hermione, d'you want me to separate them?" Dean asked, winking at her. Harry and Ron fighting was a fairly regular occurrence around here, she could see some of their colleagues already placing bets. Glancing at the chart, she saw that Ron's odds were two-to-one, and felt slightly sorry for Harry. She shook her head with a smile.

"No, I might just let them go at it for a while," she told him with a cheerful smile. "I've got work to catch up on. Hopefully they'll have calmed down in an hour or so." Smiling to herself, she walked down the corridor to her own office, which was as usual neat and color-coordinated. Paintings of muggle and wizard artwork adorned the place which was decorated with cranberry and gold furnishings- she had always loved the Gryffindor colors. There was a letter lying unopened on her mahogany desk, and so, curious, she crossed to open it. It had a ministry seal and looked very official, so she slit it open with her wand and sat back in her chair to read it.

_Ms Granger,_

_You are aware of the new ministry policy of Matching for unmarried wizards and witches of 17-45 years of age. Your own matching ceremony will take place on the 18__th__ of September, at 6pm sharp, along with all those other wizards and witches of surnames from A-H. Attendance to this ceremony is compulsory. More information will be provided for you in the days to come. _

_Regards,_

_The Ministry of Magic._

"The eighteenth," Hermione murmured. That was only a week away. They certainly weren't taking this new policy lightly, then. She rubbed her temples, for the first time in her life, unsure what to think. Hermione was a free spirit, that much was certain- the idea of people telling her what to do had always irritated her. Many had seen her as the goody-two-shoes of the Golden Trio, and perhaps for a time she had been, but many people didn't realize that her approach to rules was that they should act as guidance only, and that sometimes, had to be broken. But to be told who to marry? Who she had to spend the rest of her life with? Perhaps, for a greater good, for a purpose higher than herself, she could manage it. Suddenly, her door burst open and an older, graying wizard by the name of McMathews came wheezing into sight.

"Miss Granger," he panted, slightly out of breath. Hermione rose out of habit, trying to keep her irritation that he could not even knock at bay.

"Yes, sir?"

"They-they need you down in the courts. A trial is taking place and the cursebreaker called in sick. The require somebody to ensure the accused is not under any curses." Her interest spiked all of a sudden. A trial? Well, that was something she didn't do everyday.

"Alright, I'm coming," she said, pocketing her wand and following the man down into the depths of the Ministry where only the most secretive trials took place.

"Tell me, sir," she began curiously. "Exactly whose trial is this?" She asked. In response, the man paled and gulped noticeably, pushed the door open for her, and was then gone.

"Ms. Granger," the deep voice of the Chief Warlock called out. "Please, come in." Hermione stepped inside the dark, cold room hesitantly, and her gaze was drawn quickly to the accused's seat. Her stomach sank unpleasantly as her eyes fell on one person she had never expected to see again in her entire life. His tall, lanky frame filled the seat as he lounged in it, his ice-cold eyes never once leaving her own.

_Draco Malfoy. _

She was shocked. Not just that he was here, but that he seemed so…different. So different, and yet so much the same. Gone was the skinny, vampire-like Malfoy who had teased her mercilessly throughout her childhood. Gone was the lanky, moody teenager. Malfoy was taller, broad-shouldered and more tanned. There was a grim, almost old expression in his face, which looked almost haunted. Lastly, he was devastatingly, undeniably handsome in a cold, chiseled kind of way, and that attractiveness was only accentuated by the half-sneer that he seemed to wear on a permanent basis.

Somehow, Hermione managed to get over her initial shock and turned her back on the man who appraised her coldly to nod briskly at the Chief Warlock.

"Yes, Sir?" She asked politely, clenching her hands into fists to stop herself from trembling. The salt-and-pepper haired man smiled encouragingly at her.

"Go on, Hermione." Steeling herself, she turned to face _him_ again, summoning some of her old Gryffindor fire so she didn't shrink away from the intense, silent gaze. After a moment, she relaxed into the magic and nonverbally used the most powerful curse detector spell she could summon, concentrating hard. He flinched noticeably when the magic hit him- it was often painful, and Hermione could care less- but his expression changed to a sneer as the magic searched through him, finally returning a slight silver haze that, combined with the dark shadows cast upon his face, made him look somewhat like an avenging angel.

"Nothing," Hermione spoke quietly after some time. "There are no spells cast upon him."

"Thank you, Ms. Granger," the Warlock said. "You will stay for the remainder of the trial."

"What is this, a fucking circus?" Malfoy drawled, speaking for the first time. His hard gaze flashed from the Warlock to Hermione. "She leaves," he spat.

"You are not in any position to be making demands, Mr. Malfoy," the warlock said chillingly. "Ms. Granger, sit at the back, please." Hermione obeyed, more than a little satisfied that the Chief Warlock had put Malfoy back in his sodding place, and the trial immediately began. She attempted to follow the proceedings as best she could as the Wizegamot fired accusations at Malfoy, who remained silent or answered with one-word replies. She noticed sourly that at least half of the Wizegamot were agreeing with Malfoy, defending him vehemently. Probably because his family owns them, she thought bitterly. He'll never get half of what he deserves. Without realizing it, Hermione was pulled back to her memories of Hogwarts, of the wonderful, bittersweet years she had spent there, and finally the last battle that had left their side nearly destroyed but ultimately victorious. Victory could not have come at a higher price, she thought to herself sadly. Her thoughts were interrupted with the banging of the gavel.

"Silence!" Somebody shouted irritably. "The evidence for and against Mr Malfoy's guilt has thus been presented." One wizard stood up, straightening his dark blue robes gravely and turning to address the group.

"Mr. Malfoy was coerced into obedience to Voldemort," he said quietly. "He is still young, and his choices were not his own. It has been proven that Lucius Malfoy used the Cruciatus curse on him many times. Mr. Malfoy should be accepted back into our society. Now is not a time for us to make an example of anyone. Now is a time for forgiveness, for peace and healing. There are greater evils to defeat yet." A loud chorus of "_hear, hear's"_ filled the room, and Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. Impossible. They were not about to let Malfoy walk free, were they?

"Very well," the Warlock sighed. "All in favor of Draco Malfoy's immediate release from all charges, please raise your hands." A dead silence fell over the room as hands were raised, some slowly, others with utter confidence. Hermione tried to add up the number of hands, but many people pulled theirs down quickly, as if they were ashamed of having voted for him.

"Eighteen, nineteen, twenty," announced the Chief Warlock. "Twenty for, eighteen against. Mr. Malfoy, you are free to go," he told him, and Hermione could almost hear him smirk as the chamber filed out of the double doors in a hurry, as if they didn't want to look see any more of Malfoy then they had to. Her temper quickly rising at the injustice and corruption, Hermione grabbed her bag and strode quickly out of the room, using her shoulder to push past Malfoy. He chuckled.

"Going somewhere, mudblood?" He spat. The old insult stung rather a lot more than it should have, but Hermione kept her famous cool like a master.

"About as far away from you as I can possibly manage," she returned coldly. She intended to walk away right that moment, but something inside her, something about him provoked her to swing around and face him, her eyes blazing. Maybe it was the fact that he was the one who had held the greatest hand in Dumbledore's death. Maybe it was that he had been weak- far, far too weak to choose either side. Whichever it was, she found herself unable to simply stride off, to be the bigger person. She was known for having an ironclad hold on her temper, but when it did get out of hand, those in the firing range usually regretted it dearly. This was one of these moments, and instead of counting to ten or petting Crookshanks, she gave in to her emotions.

"You, Malfoy, are an arrogant, evil bastard, and you will pay for everything you have done, regardless of what they have said," she snapped. "You're a coward, you're a traitor, you're a murderer, and I can't wait until you have to face up to that," she said fiercely. His eyes became cold and he stepped towards her. Suddenly, Hermione was very afraid. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized he was much bigger than her five-foot-six frame. Suddenly, her outburst didn't seem so clever, but she'd be loathe to admit that.

"You think you know everything, Granger," he hissed. "You think you know everything about me. Here's an idea, you stupid girl," he snarled. "Maybe you don't know everything. Maybe, if you tried to use that brain everyone seems to think you have, you'd realize that I already have paid for my mistakes," he said coldly. And without so much as another word, he turned on his heel and walked away from her, leaving her with a hammering heart and the realization that there was much, much more to this man than she had ever realized.

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**Please tell me what you thought, but remember this is my first HP fanfiction and Draco/Hermione pairing. Nevertheless, any feedback would be welcomed. ;) Have a lovely day! **

**WideEyedDreamer01 xx**


	2. Definitions

**Shoutout to the people who've reviewed/favorited/followed this story. Enjoy ;)**

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_The tall man's feet made cold, hollow noises on the stone floor as he approached. An eye cracked open. He was pale, his long, blonde hair reflecting in the moonlight, his cold eyes glittering, a cruel sneer on his face. _

_"Crucio," he spat, and another wave of debilitating pain followed. It was crushing, immobilizing, impossible to escape from…_

_"Just do it," the silky, snake-like voice suggested. "Just give in." _

_"Never," a voice spat back. It took him a while to realize the defiant word had come from his own mouth. A high, cold laugh. More pain. Everything went dark then. The piercing sounds of a woman screaming for mercy, the sound of running feet, or men laughing as they called out spells meant only to maim, to torture, to kill…A girl was shaking on the cold stone floor, blood pooling on the ground. The blood wasn't brown. It was red, just like his. Pain. Fear. The stench of death. No escape. The burning pain of the Dark Mark. Horror, hate, murder, rape. All mixed into one until it numbed the mind. Before he died, the pale haired man had time to spit one final, haunting sentence._

_"You'll never escape, you know," he hissed. "You're a part of this. This is who you are!" He roared., before the light faded from his eyes. He ran. Back down the cold, cold corridors, away from the body, away from everything. He could hear the woman's voice. Maybe he would make it. Maybe he wouldn't be too late. He was sprinting now, tearing around the corner to come face to face with-_

Draco Malfoy fell to the floor with a crash, blinking awake frantically to check his surroundings, his heart pounding at the speed of light. He saw the same, plain familiar bedroom, and wiped his sweaty forehead, running a hand through his short hair.

"Fuck," he mumbled. It had been the dream. The same bloody dream that had haunted his nights for the past two years. Every time it happened it felt incredibly real. Suddenly, the light was switched on and Draco scowled at the sudden, painful intrusion.

"Draco, mate? What are you doing on the floor?" Blaise asked curiously. Draco scowled.

"What the fuck does it look like?" He snapped. "I'm playing chess, obviously." Blaise shrugged complacently.

"Okay. Just keep it down. Some people might think you fell out of bed." Draco squinted at his best friend in irritation.

"Sod you, Zabini," he mumbled somewhat sullenly. Once, he would have assumed the sarcasm had been wasted on him, but in later years, Blaise had developed the exact same biting attitude that Draco himself had, which was probably what had kept them together. Or maybe Draco was losing his touch. It was hard to be sarcastic at three in the morning with thoughts of Lord Voldemort still running through your head, he mused.

"Draco. You're doing it again," Blaise said quietly. His grip tightened on the sheets as he looked down and realized, to his disgust, that Blaise was right. He was shaking. Abruptly, he stood.

"Whatever. I'm going to the gym," he muttered. "Coming?" Blaise shook his head.

"Nah, I'm going back to bed now you've sorted your chess game out." Draco decided to let the jibe slide, just this once. An early-morning altercation with Zabini wasn't what he was after. What he needed was a long, hard session with a boxing bag, and he was impatient to get it.

"Want me to tuck you in?" Draco said sarcastically, and received a few choice fingers as Blaise turned his back and shut the door. Draco didn't even notice what clothes he pulled on in his haste to get out of the door, and began padding through the hallways, down the many staircases of Zabini Place. It was about a third of the size _that_ place, _his_ place had been, but even still it felt too large for just two people. Draco didn't even know if _that_ place was still standing. He hadn't been there in what felt like a lifetime, and hadn't the slightest desire to do so ever again.

"You," hissed a portrait on the wall of an old woman with beady eyes and masses of dark wild hair.

"Me," Draco replied in a bored tone, continuing down the stairs. She followed him, waking up the occupants in the other pictures, who all began to curse at him as well.

"You are a traitor! You and my grandson disgrace the honorable names of your families," she croaked. Draco shrugged arrogantly.

"I suppose I'll get over it," he drawled. "Not much left to disgrace, really." A small part of his still-groggy mind registered he was talking to a flaming wall, but he was so tired he didn't really care. A few moments later he had reached the basement where they'd set up a crude gym with several punching bags and a few walls of weights and immideately crossed to the black punching bag. Soon, he lost himself in the familiar patterns of punches, kicks and strikes, working his body past exhaustion, further towards that mind-numbing state where he didn't remember anything, where all that existed was the punching bag and his fists… A face swam into his mind and he stiffened, trying to get rid of it. He golden-brown hair, the furious hazel eyes, the sneer. Her words slammed inot him like a freight train.

_Arrogant. Evil bastard. Liar. Murderer. ._

Frantically, Draco tried to punch harder, to dispel the claustrophobic thoughts that screamed she was right. Did she know? Did she have any idea what those words did to him? It wasn't the fact that it was her saying them, he didn't need her opinion, but the words themselves, the way they had come tubling violently out of her mouth fuelled with such a shocking hatred had stunned him. They weren't true, were they? They hadn't been true in a long, long time. But maybe she was right. Maybe he hadn't changed. Perhaps he was still a monster. He could see her face. See her expression as she spat the words at him.

_Arrogant. Evil. Bastard. Liar. Murderer. Traitor. Coward. _

"No," he said hoarsely. "No. No!" He roared, and with one final huge blow, tore the punching bag from its chain, and it flew across the other side of the room. He gripped the dangling chain to keep himself upright, breathing heavily, fast and shallow. He raised his gaze to stare into the mirror that lined one wall, gazing mechanically at his reflection.

"I am not him," he said fiercely. "I am _not_ my father." _No_, said a quiet voice inside his head. _No, you're worse. At least your father was brave enough to stand up for something. Even if it was evil. _Draco glared at the reflection he saw in the mirror with hate. He crossed to the weights rack and grabbed the largest one he could find, and with the lasts of his strength, threw it at the mirror, where it smashed into thousands of pieces. He watched it shatter with a kind of deadly calm, too much adrenaline in his body to fix any of it yet. Slowly he trudged upstairs and into the kitchen area, realizing it was nearly dawn, and the house seemed to be waking. In the pale morning sunshine, Draco realized he was bleeding- his hands were bloodied and brusied, and there were scratches all over his face from the glass. He looked at the blood with a bitter smile.

_It was red. Just like hers. _

He looked out at the faint skyline of London, where the wizarding world was so well-hidden. Where people knew of him, revered him, detested him, feared him. Draco had never cared what anyone thought about him. Liked to think he still didn't. But opinion, as he knew, was powerful, words could crush even the strongest of spirits. He had been on the other end of a damning word. His own words had ended lives, helped fight wars, doomed innocents. But not anymore.

"I will prove you wrong," he said coldly, more to himself than to anyone else. "For once in your life, you get to be wrong, Granger." Draco knew his past was a nightmare, but he didn't intend to let that define him. It was a new day, he had a new life, and he was going to make the most of it. Draco Malfoy was a smart man. He was not about to make the same mistakes twice.

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**So, Draco's a complicated character. I really enjoyed writing this, actually. This is short, I know, but I figured it was better to get something out than to make you guys wait another few days for a monster chapter. Next installment soon.**

**WideEydedDreamer xx**


	3. Animosities

**ATTENTION: A guest reviewer mentioned that this fic has some similarities to a series by Ally Condie called "Matched" so I googled it and found that the actual matching idea is quite similar. However, this fic is NOT based on that series (I haven't read it so I can't say what plot twists may/may not be the same). This fic was purely inspired by a late night idea and a few pretty awesome marriage law stories I read on FF. Thanks!**

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For once in her life, Hermione was counting down the minutes until the end of work. Normally she loved the challenging, fast-paced work, nothing was ever the same twice, but today she just wanted to go home and sleep, even though it was barely half three in the afternoon. She had been awoken from disturbing dreams of the Battle of Hogwarts by an impatient owl at four am this morning, (which seemed like a lifetime ago,) with a frantic call for her and Ginny to come to St. Mungo's and revive a cursed young witch. She had been the victim of a horribly violent Death Eater attack and though Hermione had done everything she could, the young girl's life still hung in the finest balance.

The rest of her day had been almost as frantic- there had been the cursed grandfather clock, a very evil but not technically cursed staircase and, most disturbingly, a bracelet being distributed among muggles that an especially ingenious Death Eater had cursed with a version of the Cruciatus Curse that had sent two elderly muggles into hospital with heart attacks. Hermione absentmindedly bit her fingernails, a habit she couldn't quite seem to shake, one that became more prevalent when she was anxious or stressed. The attacks were not fading, even though it had been coming up for two years since Voldemort had been defeated. If anything, it seemed like they were getting more frequent…A knock on her door interrupted her reverie.

"Come in," she said tiredly, and in walked two of her favorite people, Harry and Ginny. She raised an eyebrow.

"So you do know how to knock, then?" She asked Harry, who stuck his tongue out at her. She smiled faintly. Harry was probably one of the only people on the planet who could make her smile right now. But the smile slid as she looked at Ginny's face, which was a picture of sadness, making her apprehensive.

"Did you-" Hermione began, and Ginny nodded quietly.

"The owl just came. She didn't make it, Mione." Her shoulders slumped.

"Oh." Even though she knew it was probably for the better- the pain and suffering was over now, and if she had lived it was likely she would have had crushing disabilities-Hermione was overcome with grief for the young witch. Another future snatched away senselessly, another family in mourning.

"It wasn't your fault," Harry said gently, giving her hand a squeeze. Hermione sighed, nodding.

"Yes, I know that," she said briskly. Tragedy and loss had taught her to be strong, to improve upon her already-resilient nature so that her emotions were kept under lock and key until she had the privacy of solitude.

"I know this is the last thing you want right now, but Shackbolt's called a meeting," Harry told her with a grimace. "I don't think we can get out of it this time. It's just us four, plus Pavarti and Dean."

"Plus he saw us come in here and they're watching the window in case we try to fly out," Ginny said, looking slightly put out. Hermione nodded.

"Well, we'd better go then. D'you know what it's about?" She asked as they filed out of her office and began making their way up the staircase. Harry shrugged.

"Seemed pretty important. Shackbolt looked a bit nervous, and he's never nervous." Ginny snorted.

"Nervous? The man's face was like parchment."

"Strange," Hermione mused, and they met an anxious Dean in the hallway.

"You don't think this is about the time we bewitched the food trolley to be everlasting, do you?" He said nervously. Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"I doubt that's why the Minister for Magic wants to see us, Dean."

"'Elllo, you lot," Ron said cheerfully, giving his sister a pat on the head, and she scowled. "D'you know where we're supposed to be?" They all looked at Hermione expectantly, and she sighed, exasperated.

"Could be that one," she said with an eyeroll, pointing at the glowing sign above a large meeting room that said "Auror Meeting 3:30pm". Harry smirked at her.

"Yes. Maybe," he said dryly, opening the door for his girlfriend and following her in. Still smiling, Hermione entered the room, but the expression froze on her features and then slid right off, replaced by one of frozen horror.

Standing next to Shackbolt was none other than Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini.

"What the hell?" Ron demanded loudly, looking from person to person bemusedly.

"I…I don't understand," Dean mumbled. "Thought Malfoy was dead." Pavarti, who had come in after them, let out a gasp and grabbed the table. Hermione was the one who found words first.

"Sir, what's going on?" She asked calmly. Kingsley knitted his eyebrows, as if preparing for an argument.

"Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Pavarti, Dean," he began rather formally. "As you may know, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini have been proven innocent of all crimes," he emphasized. Ron snorted a little derisively, but didn't say anything otherwise. Kingsley continued as if he hadn't heard this. "They will be joining the specialized curse section of the Aurors department."

"What?" Ginny squeaked. "But-But-"

"I am not working with them," Pavarti declared. "I'd rather drink an entire cauldron of skeel-gro." Blaise looked wounded.

"Why?" He said innocently. "It's because I'm black, isn't it?" He said in a wounded tone.

"You're sodding death eaters!" Dean spluttered.

"Were," Harry corrected, and every head in the room turned to him in amazement. Hermione was already shocked that Harry hadn't hexed Malfoy to kingdom come upon first sight, but this was something else. His green eyes were narrowed as he studied Malfoy and Zabini with a guarded but not altogether unfriendly expression.

"Hello, Zabini. Malfoy," he nodded, a degree of actual civility in his tone. Both of them nodded slightly back, and they seemed to have a conversation with their eyes. Predictably, that was when Ron exploded.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" He yelled. "Harry, have you lost your mind?"

"No," he said, his eyes still trained on Malfoy. "Just opened it." Ron turned to Shackbolt.

"Sir, Harry's gone mad," he said rather matter-of-factly. "His brain has been removed."

"Just like yours, Weasel?" Malfoy sneered. Ron's eyes flashed dangerously and his hand strayed to his wand.

"Watch your mouth, ferret." Malfoy's cold grey eyes darkened to steel.

"I'd watch yours, if I were you. Hex me and there'll probably be slugs coming out of it before too long."

"You slimy, pointy-faced-" Ron began, but Shackbolt stepped between them, holding his hands out as if in an attempt to pacify them.

"No arguments," Shackbolt ordered, looking hard at each person. "The war is over. Whatever animosities you all had in your younger years must be forgotten. Draco and Blaise will make invaluable additions to your team and you will all treat each other with respect and professionalism." His expression softened. "You all know this is a time where we need unity," he said quietly. "You all are high-profile wizards and witches, and I believe that if you can all work together and avoid causing the next Great War, the wizarding world will follow your example and turn over a fresh leaf. Your first assignment together is there," he said, indicating to a folder on the table. With that he swept out of the room, closing the heavy door with a firm click. For a few seconds inside the room, one could have heard a pin drop, a silence which was eventually broken by a very game Ginny.

"Well then, let's see what we've got," she said briskly, passing Hermione the briefing paper. "Read it out, would you, 'Mione?" Hermione nodded, cleared her throat and began to read.

"Salazar House is one of Britain's longest-standing magical residences and has long been associated with Dark Artifacts. It has stood empty for two years and is to be destroyed at the behest of its new owner. However due to its use during both of the Great Wars, it first needs to be checked for long-standing protective magics and harmful curses. Salazar House is located one hundred and fifty miles from London in Wiltshire and is more commonly known as-" Hermione stopped reading, the words caught in her throat. No. This was far, far too much, Kingsley should have known that. Her fingers tightened around the piece of paper, she had the urge to crumple it.

"Go on, 'Mione," Ron said gently. "'More commonly known as?"' Hermione cleared her throat, calling her emotions and memories back into line.

"-More commonly known as Malfoy Manor," she finished coldly, and set the paper down. When she looked up she saw every eye trained on Malfoy, who looked a little bored. Blaise glared at them all.

"So, let's get going," then, he said briskly. "Don't know about you lot, but I'm dying for a drink. Sooner this is done, sooner we can all go home. We'll see you there." With a crack, Blaise was gone, quickly followed by Malfoy, then a reluctant Pavarti.

"C'mon," Harry sighed. "We don't seem to have much of a choice."

"Harry, why are you being nice to then?" Ginny said, seeming bewildered.

"I'm not being nice," he said flatly. "The fact that they are both still standing does not mean we are going to have tea and biscuits and sleepovers." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Civil, then," she amended with an exasperated sigh. He shrugged.

"It isn't for me to tell. Come on, let's go." He took a frustrated Ginny's hand, and they Apparated together.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron said indignantly, but shook his head and did the same, mumbling unflattering things about his best friend as he did. Dean followed suit, and Hermione hesitated before grabbing the information folder, and moments later was standing at the front of Malfoy Manor. A chill raced through her heart as she looked at it, ever the imposing and beautiful, stately house.

"Are you alright?" Harry murmured in her ear, as usual managing to sense her emotions. She swallowed hard, then nodded.

"Yes, of course," she said faintly. "I'm fine." He patted her back reassuringly and she smiled gratefully, but shifted a little when she realized their exchange was being watched by Malfoy.

"Alright, there's eight of us, so we should split into two groups," Ginny said, taking the lead like a master. Usually, bossing everyone around was Hermione's role, but she seemed to have noticed that her best friend wasn't up for it today, and had taken over seamlessly.

"Let's have Malfoy, Dean, Hermione and Pavarti in one group, Ron, Zabini, Harry and me in the other. That okay? Good," she said before anyone had the chance to object.

"If I may," Malfoy said coldly. "The minister asked me to share what knowledge I have of this place with you. The protective enchantments around the exterior are for the most part harmless, but very powerful as they have been in place for many hundreds of years. Mostly illusions to keep muggles out."

"And death eaters in?" Ron muttered. Malfoy's eyes flickered to him and it looked like he was going to use the most painful curse he knew on him for a second, but then he stopped.

"Yes," he said tightly. "And everyone else in, death eaters included." Hermione was amazed that Malfoy hadn't risen to the jibe. "The interior of this place has all sorts of curses and enchantments placed upon it. Many that, if activated, will attempt to injure or maim."

"How are they activated?" Harry asked. Malfoy seemed to hesitate.

"With the presence of undesirable people," he replied. "Traitors, mud"-he frowned, and corrected himself-"muggle-borns. Most of them I have already destroyed but a few remain. Our task is to check the exterior enchantments for any Dark Magic, and then remove any lingering curses from the interior."

"Sounds good," Zabini said with a grin.

"Why are we bothering to do the inside it this place is going to be destroyed anyway?" Dean said, rather sensibly.

"Because the curse will linger, sometimes even strengthen," Hermione heard herself answer. "And if the next building built is magical, there's a strong likelihood that it'll attach itself to that."

"We'll do the outside, then?" Harry said to Malfoy. "You'd be better taking the inside." Malfoy nodded.

"Yes." The group split, and slowly, they made their way inside. Hermione was almost glad she wasn't with Harry or Ron- their presence would serve to remind her of the last time she had set foot here under a very different set of circumstances. Pavarti fell into step with Hermione.

"Malfoy's been back half an hour and he's already manipulating the ministry," she said sullenly. "Getting us to curse-check his own house. It'd cost him thousands if he had to hire a specialist team. Talk about taking advantage," she muttered, and Dean nodded.

"That would be correct," drawled Malfoy's voice, which echoed off the high ceilings, "except this house belongs to my mother." Pavarti's cheeks turned pink.

"Sorry," Pavarti mumbled, and they made their way into the depths of the Manor. Hermione was surprised to see that all of the furniture had been removed, all of the paintings gone. The grandeur of the house was still unmistakable, but it looked empty and worn out. Realising this would be a much larger task than they had anticipated, they spread out to cover more ground. Hermione checked a few rooms that seemed to once have been bedrooms, then a small dining room with a particularly nasty stinging hex. Before she knew it, she had descended a few flights of stairs, past a long-abandoned kitchen until she stopped to stare at a small door she remembered very well. The cellar door. She shuddered involuntarily, but reached for the handle. She was certain it would have all manner of powerful protections and curses cast upon it.

"Don't bother," a cool voice said from behind her, and she jumped a foot in the air, wand immideately at the ready. Malfoy's tall frame filled the narrow doorway, and he looked a little amused.

"Going to hex me, Granger?"

"It's hardly my fault if you insist on sneaking up on me," she snapped, pulling herself together and yanking the door open.

"I did it already," he told her coldly. "There's nothing there anymore." Hermione tried to contain a sigh of relief, and nodded.

"Alright." Silently, they made their way back up the staircases, passing through the kitchens where Hermione lingered. A house as old as this one had house elves tied to it, that she was certain of. What had become of them during the war, then after it? She wondered concernedly.

"They went to Hogwarts," Malfoy's voice said from behind her, and she flinched in surprise. How had he guessed her thoughts so easily? Guessing that Legilimency was behind it she glared at him, crossing her arms.

"How dare you, Malfoy, that's completely-"

"Calm the fuck down," he said, irritation clear in his tone. "I know it's illegal, Granger, and I'm trying _not _to get thrown into Azkaban." He smirked. "You're just remarkably easy to read, and predictable as hell."

"I am not predictable," she said, somewhat sullenly, turning her back on him, annoyed he could so easily read her. They met a disheveled Dean and Pavarti, who was trying to stem a bleeding nose, back in the main hallway.

"What happened?" Hermione asked concernedly.

"Bloody bedroom attacked us," Dean said sullenly. "Could have warned us, Malfoy." The blond man smirked again.

"Oops. Sorry," he said dryly, not sounding it in the slightest. Death Eater, perhaps not, Slytherin to the bone, for sure, Hermione thought to herself. They stopped at a door Hermione recognized as the drawing room, and her chest tightened. She remembered all too well the horrors of this room, and as if on cue, her left arm, the one Bellatrix had scarred, tingled a little.

"This room is very much still cursed," Malfoy warned, his voice sounding odd. "It will require a combined effort to remove it." They stepped silently into the room, wands held aloft, and spread out into the four corners, the ancient floorboards creaking, a strange breeze making Hermione shift uncomfortably. Hermione tried not to think about what her muggle-born parenthood could mean to the room, and what it might try to do, but as she reached out to touch the wall there was a sharp crack, then another, and then a rumbling noise.

"Watch out!" Malfoy yelled and suddenly, a huge chunk of plasterboard and wood from the ceiling fell, narrowly missing him. He straightened up, brushing the dust off his robes and looking at the hole in the ceiling almost amusedly.

"Better luck next time," Hermione heard him mutter to the hole, and wondered half-hopefully if he was going mad.

"Alright," Pavarti said in a business-like tone as they tried to ignore the room's personal vendetta against them. "Malfoy's right, this is a nasty one. We all need to cast the spell at the exact same time. Nonverbal would be best if this curse really can sense what we're doing."

"On three, then?" Dean suggested, and Pavarti nodded. She counted down using hand signals, and then four identical bursts of silver magic covered the room like a net. A horrible wailing, shrieking noise started, increasing in volume until it was deafening and the walls seemed to tremble. The curse refused to go down without a fight, and by the time they could finally pull away, Hermione was exhausted and felt drained. Glancing at her watch, she realized it had taken them a full half-hour to get rid of it.

"Impressive," Zabini's voice said from the corridor, casting another curse-detecting spell. "That's the worst of it. The rest of the house is clear," he announced. After clearing up a few more minor hexes embedded into ceilings and walls, they found themselves standing outside once again. An uncomfortable silence ensued.

"Well, er…I guess that's it for today," Harry said, somewhat lamely. "Should probably get back to London. Good work, everyone." The silence was broken by everyone Apparating as quickly as possible to avoid having to speak to each other, and within a few minutes Hermione found herself back at her apartment. Surveying the quiet scene, she sighed, knowing it wouldn't last for long, and took out six coffee mugs and quickly used magic to make a pot of tea. A deafening crack followed shortly after, and her five fellow workmates and gryffindors appeared in unison in her living room. Ginny passed her her office bag with a grin, trading it for a cup of tea.

"Here you go, I picked it up from your office. Figured you probably didn't want to go back. You know they've given Malfoy the empty office next to yours?" Ginny made a sound of disgust.

"Speaking of Malfoy," Ron said with narrowed eyes, turning to appraise Harry, who made a face.

"Yeah, Harry, what the hell?" Dean asked curiously. "You and Malfoy bedmates now?" Harry's eyes widened until he slightly resembled a bullfrog, and proceeded to spit out half a mouthful of tea.

"Ew," Pavarti protested, as Harry, coughing and spluttering, managed an apology and used his wand to clean up the mess. Ginny grinned.

"Yeah, I can see the headline," she said dramatically, doing her best Rita Skeeter imitation. "Malfoy and Potter's secret love tryst, hidden for nine years." Harry glared at her.

"Shut up," he said in amused irritation. Pavarti snickered.

"Yeah, well it would mean that Ginny was the girl who turned him off girls," she said, earning herself an elbow in the ribs from a laughing Ginny.

"But seriously, Harry," Hermione said, speaking up for the first time. "What's going on?" Harry sighed.

"Look, I don't have a clue what the git's deal is. But we've come to a…understanding."

"What understanding?" Ron demanded. "Honestly, Harry, when did you get so bloody cryptic and Dumbledore-y?" Harry shook his head.

"It's not a big deal. Malfoy doesn't want it talked about and I'm going to honor that," he said firmly. "I don't even know the whole story, so can we please drop it?" He emphasized. Pavarti groaned.

"Oh, fine. Anyway, I'd better be off. Lavender and I are meeting up tonight. Thanks for the tea, Hermione. And the tea-flavored spit," she added to Harry, who made an apologetic face.

"I'm off, too," said Dean, rising to stretch. "Seamus made me promise to show my face tonight to prove that I actually am alive, and that the Auror department hasn't killed me and covered it up." With a wink and a wave, both were gone. The four sat in companionable silence for a time, enjoying each other's company and the biscuits they raided Hermione's cupboards for. Tea turned into dinner- take-out from the fantastic muggle Chinese restaurant just down the street, and Hermione found herself slowly relaxing from what had been a long, stressful day.

"So," Harry said, munching a prawn cracker and spraying the crumbs everywhere, earing himself a reproving glare from Ginny-"how about that matching process?" Ron shook his head.

"I can't believe they're actually going through with it. There hasn't been nearly as much uproar as I thought there would be." Ginny shook her head.

"Everybody's scared," she sighed. "They'll cling to the first idea that gets thrown at them. I just hope the Ministry knows what they're doing."

"What's happening with you two?" Hermione asked Harry and Ginny. "And Ron, you and Lavender?" Ron shrugged.

"Erm, don't know. 'Parently couples can apply not to do it, but Lav wants to." He rolled his eyes. "One true love and all of that. I'm going to be pretty screwed if somebody else's name comes up, aren't I?" He said sheepishly, and they all laughed.

"My matching thing is tomorrow," Ginny said quietly. "If all goes well, there's no need to worry. And if it doesn't-" she grinned at her boyfriend. "Well, we'll make sure all hell breaks loose. If Cho's name comes up I'll hex her, I don't care how nice she is." Harry grinned back at her.

"Thanks," he said dryly.

"What would you do if, say, Millicent's name came up?" Ron said with a snort. "Or Goyle? Or Ferret?" Harry laughed.

"Well, it would start with Avada and end with Kedavra," he said wryly.

"That won't happen," Hermione said confidently. "I did some reading about this thing-"

"Shocker," Ron muttered, Hermione ignored him with a practiced ease.

"-And it's actually a really ingenious piece of magic. It reminds me a little of the goblet of fire. It's completely blind to everything, like background, financial status and school house, and takes into account your strengths and weaknesses, your likes and ambitions." There was a pause.

"You are bloody brilliant," Harry commented in admiration. "How do you find the time for that? Still got that time turner?" She smirked.

"No, I just don't spend my lunch breaks with my head stuck in a Quidditch magazine," she said promptly. It was very late by the time Hermione shut the door behind her light-heartedly bickering friends, and decided that she would head straight to bed with crookshanks and a hot water bottle instead of reading or doing any more work. As she climbed into her very soft albeit creaky bed, her thoughts drifted back to the Match. She was thankful that her friends had not mentioned the subject in relation to her, because she still didn't know how to feel about it. Choosing who she would spend her life with was a powerful choice, one that she felt everyone should be entitled to make of their own volition. But she knew that this was probably a good thing, and how could she support it if she didn't follow through herself? That would make her a hypocrite, an idea she hated beyond all others.

Hermione sighed, turning over and giving her rather plump cat a scratch behind the ears. She knew that, if the match truly was somebody she could not stand (which already seemed unlikely given the cleverness of the matching process) she knew that there were processes she could go through to appeal it. She was a clever witch, and would approach this challenge as she did every other one- face on with determination and her wits about her. A small pang went through Hermione's heart as she thought of her friends. Harry and Ginny. Lavender and Ron. They all had something to hope for, somebody they truly were in love with. This was a much less daunting prospect for them. They, at least, had something-rather, someone-to hope for. Hermione did not.

She could not honestly say that she had ever been in love. Of course, she loved Harry and Ron, she adored Ginny and Pavarti had grown on her in past years-then there was dear Luna- but she had never had a romantic interest in any others. Viktor she had found dull after a while, Cormack far too absorbed in his own self-image, and not half as intelligent as she had originally thought. For a while, she and Ron had a brief romance, but had called it off quickly when they realized they were better as friends, and that romance would ruin the Trio's friendship. Hermione sighed once again, turning over to find a comfortable position. She was an optimist at heart, she reasoned with herself. She would not assume this would be a disaster until it had actually happened. _After all_, she told herself sensibly, _if she had nothing to hope for, she also had nothing to fear._ Calmed by this assertion, Hermione quickly fell into a pleasantly deep, uninterrupted sleep.

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	4. Matched

**It's been a long time, sorry! Updates will be more frequent now, I promise.**

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Draco paused at the mahogany door, feeling strangely apprehensive, unsure of whether he should knock or walk straight in.

"Draco, dear, come in," his mother's voice called through the wood. "And do bring Blaise in with you." His best friend raised his eyebrows expectantly at him, and with a sigh, he turned the crystal doorknob and entered the surprisingly cheerful, well-lit room. As were all the other rooms in this luxurious penthouse, it was decorated elegantly in dark wood, green and silver, but bright splashes of colour around the place brightened it up and made for a sophisticated vintage style. _Christ, I sound like a fucking interior designer_, he thought to himself, but then brought his gaze to his mother. Her silver-green eyes looked cheerful, there was some colour in her cheeks. Classical music tinkled from a gramophone behind her, and a novel was turned face-down in her lap. The woman he saw before him wore fashionable plum robes and her silvery-blonde hair in an elegant French twist, and looked more alive than she had in fifteen years.

"Mother," he greeted her, unable to stop a brief smile as he let her embrace him, and then his friend in turn. She took hold of his shoulders and appraised him.

"You look well, dear. How is everything?" She asked, and her sharp gaze told him she meant more than just idle chit-chat. He sighed.

"I'm fine." She arched an eyebrow, and turned to Blaise.

"Does my son still have nightmares?" Blaise hesitated upon seeing Draco's _"I will put your head on a stick"_ expression, but knowing Narcissa Malfoy posed perhaps an even larger threat to him, nodded reluctantly. His mother sighed.

"Really, Draco. You should let me arrange some help for you. It wouldn't be much, just a-"

"No," Draco said flatly, running a hand through his hair. "No, I'm not going to go cry like a sodding first-year hufflepuff about my problems to some know-it-all shrink." He thought he saw her smile, but she got rid of the amusement quickly. He took the opportunity to change the subject.

"Have you decided what you will do with Wiltshire yet?" He asked. Neither of them referred to that place by its proper name any more, only as the place within which it was located. According to his mother, that marked an important step in de-centering the ideals that place had held from their lives. Well, that was her opinion. Draco's was that she had been reading far too many muggle scientific journals about some bullshit they called post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Yes," she replied, a smile breaking out on her graceful features. "Yes, it will be a…well, orphanage sounds so dreary, and school sounds so assuming…It will be a place for young magical children who have been left parentless," she said quietly. "You know I have always maintained that wandless magical education should start earlier. Hopefully, if given the clearance necessary, this place can be both a learning institution and a home." Draco raised his eyebrows. It wasn't entirely unexpected- his mothers philanthropic ideals were common knowledge- but what surprised him was that she was entirely letting go of everything the old place had ever been. No mean feat to say the least, considering she'd been a prisoner inside it for more than ten years. Draco's admiration and respect for his mother only increased every time they met.

"That sounds good," Blaise commented, looking impressed.

"I hope so," she replied.

"Are you intending to stay here much longer?" Draco asked, guesturing around the sunny little house situated in the southern French countryside.

"About a week. Preparations for construction begin in a fortnight. I have acquired a place in Somerset I intend to move into to oversee the construction. But Draco, I know you were only trying to change the subject. How is London? Is the ministry treating you well?" Blaise snickered.

"Well, if "treating you well" means either flattening themselves to the side of the walls every time they see us, or completely ignoring our existence, then yes, everything is fine," he replied in his slow, calm voice. Narcissa smiled.

"Good. There's nothing wrong with a little healthy respect." She raised an eyebrow. "I read the Minister has put you two in an auror unit with the so-called Golden Trio," she said, her voice perfectly smooth, although it seemed to Draco she was teasing a little. "How is that?"

"Use your imagination,: Draco muttered, rubbing his shoulder where Weasel had got him with a stinging hex yesterday morning. Narcissa raised her teacup to her lips to hide her smile.

"I take it nothing has changed, then?" Blaise snickered.

"Well, Granger got hot and Potter got smart, but Weasel's still the same." This piqued his mother's interest, and Draco made a mental note to very, very quietly do away with his best friend at the next possible opportunity.

"Yes, I was reading about Hermione Granger in the prophet the other day," she said lightly. "She was being interviewed as to her thoughts on the marriage law. Perfectly sensible girl. I almost didn't recognize her." Draco shrugged, namely because he did not agree with his mother's assertions that she was a 'perfectly sensible girl'. Only yesterday, she'd let a swarm of birds onto him in the hallway. So what if he had hexed her hair green first? A smile curled on his lips. No doubt Granger was in favour of the marriage law- after all, it would probably be the only way she'd end up getting a husband, anyway. No doubt some stuffy professor twenty years older than her, but honestly, she probably couldn't do much better…_That's not true, _a little voice in his head said. _And you know it. Blaise is right. Granger's attractive and smart now, not just a little know-it all._He dispelled the thought with a sneer, reverting back to his original premise- that was, Granger stuck with some nutty professor.

"Anyway," Narcissa said, drawing him out of the thought. "This matching process. What do you do, Draco? Blaise?" His friend shrugged.

"Cross my fingers and hope for a Veela?" He offered. "Or a Ravenclaw, there was that dark-haired girl in the grade below us…" He trailed off thoughtfully.

"I'm not doing it," Draco said indifferently. His mother's eyes narrowed.

"Yes you are." He paused, surprised by her words, which seemed scarily like an order.

"Excuse me?"

"You will go through with this, just like every other wizard your age, Draco," she said sternly. "It will show a willingness on your part to move on, to be a part of the future world." She glared at him. "A chance to reinvent yourself, as it were." She shrugged. "Or to show the world the man you've become."

"There are other ways to do that," he said flatly, although he could not for the life of him think of one. His mother raised an eyebrow, and then her smile brightened, although it seemed a little bit scary…a little bit slytherin.

"Very well," she sighed. "I will give you a choice. You will either go through with this matching process, for a minimum period of three months…Or you will attend daily sessions with a specialist magical counselor, again for a minimum period of three months." Draco choked on his drink, making an effort not to spit it back out in his surprise. Well. That he hadn't seen coming. His mother was a force to be reckoned with, he realized. He would at least have to pretend to play by her rules, and sneak out of it after an appropriate period.

"And after three months?" He gritted.

"After three months, you may, with my approval, quietly divorce the girl, should you choose too, although I understand the matching process is rather cleverer than that… Or, by the end of three months, you may stop counseling, should I see fit." Draco stood with a bang, irritated to see his mother leaning back in her chair, looking rather amused.

"I refuse," he hissed. "Mother, I am not a child. I am perfectly able to make my own decisions." She looked at him sadly.

"No, Draco. You are not a child. You never had the chance to be a child." Her face softened. "Dear, I am prepared to compromise. After one week, if you are certain you cannot bear the woman you are matched to, you and her will visit me and I will make a decision, after which you are free from the arrangement, but after which you will attend the counseling sessions. Promise me, Draco. Promise me you will try."

"Fine," he muttered sullenly. "I'll do the sodding matching." Her intense eyes analysed him, and she stood.

"Make the unbreakable vow," she said quietly, stretching out her arm for his. Draco recoiled.

"Are you insane? No!" He practically shouted.

"One week, Draco," she hissed softly. "That's all I'm asking." Very, very reluctantly, he outstretched his hand, grasping it in hers.

"Draco, do you promise to attend the matching ceremony?"

"Yes," he muttered, and a spark of golden rope issued out of a gleeful Blaise's wand.

"Do you promise not to tamper with the match in any way, be it directly through magic or indirectly though blackmail or bribery?" Draco's eyes widened. How had she known that? He remembered wryly that Legilimency was not illegal in France.

"Yes," he sighed, deciding it was better to accept the fact that he had been beaten than to make a fool of himself trying to defy her. A second coil of golden rope bound their hands together.

"And do you promise to try, for one week, to get along with this witch, regardless of who she may be, and be respectful towards the matching process?" She asked, her eyes suddenly bright. Draco hesitated, suddenly seized by the idea of wrenching his hand away and Apparating on the spot, to hell with this agreement. He didn't have to go through with it. What was he thinking? He didn't have to take orders from her.

"Draco Alexsander Malfoy," she said coldly. "I did not survive twenty years of Death-Eater influence, protecting you from as much of it as I could to have you throw it all back at me now. I have protected you for twenty years so that you could lead a safe, happy life at some stage, and you owe me the respect to honor my wishes and to acknowledge that I am acting in your best interests!" She finished, her eyes narrowed and shining brightly. Draco stared in half-shock at his mother, stunned by her power, her fire, her strength. He wondered where this woman had been for so many years, crushed under Death Eater cloaks and death-threats. More than ever, Draco Malfoy respected the hell out of her, because she was strong enough, smart enough to rely on her wits, not her wand, to get the respect she deserved. After a moment, he met her eyes, and nodded once.

"Very well," he said hoarsely. "One week. I promise I will try." _Dear lord, it better not be a fucking hufflepuff._

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**THE NEXT DAY**

"All right, Ginny, I'm coming!" Hermione bellowed as she rushed around the burrow, dodging animals, people and countless other unidentified flying objects, trying to find her coat. She charged downstairs to find Ginny trying to comfort her teary-eyed mother, who was still resentful that she wasn't invited to the Match. The whole thing was a mess, really. The ministry had found out that the alphabetical system wasn't working, so they'd instead tried to pull everyone from one graduating class level in at the same day, which had caused complete and utter chaos.

Next, they'd found out that age itself was a big problem, as yesterday, an 19year old boy had been matched to a fourteen year old girl- who was still at Hogwarts- which had caused enough hysteria to feed the prophet for a week. So, the match had to be altered to ensure that nobody under the age of 16 could be matched to anybody. If the person you were matched to wasn't in your own year group, there was a kind of Apparating charm which pulled you to the ceremony automatically. That itself had also had some teething programs- people being Splinched, namely, so Hermione had spent the majority of her day trying to fix that, with mixed results. But now, it was time for their matching, and even though she was a year younger, Ginny, being one of the oldest in her class, would be attending with Harry, Hermione and Ron. Also, Ginny had an unfortunate predisposition to Splinching already, she didn't want to risk it when Harry's name was pulled- because, as the good friends that they were, they'd never let her live it down.

"Oh, you look lovely, Hermione," Molly said, smiling. Hermione looked down at her old dressrobes, the ones she'd worn to the Yule Ball so long ago, and blushed. She'd done a quick colour change charm on them, so that now they were a deep blood red, instead of blue, and she'd charmed some of the ruffles off as well. Hardly the most fashionable look, she was sure, but nonetheless, she was happy with it.

"Oh, good luck, both of you!" Mrs. Wealsey sniffed. "And do come right back here, so we can celebrate!" She said brightly. Ginny clattered into the foyer, straightening her closely-fitted, deep purple dress robes that accentuated her pale skin and auburn hair beautifully. She gave Hermione a look that said _"let's go before she starts crying again"_ and quickly, with assurances that everything would be fine, they departed, arriving in the ministry moments later.

It was being held in the depths of the ministry, in a large, ballroom- like place with black and diamond-speckled floors and elegant pictures on the walls. Anyone would think that they were here for some kind of gala, Hermione mused as she spotted her other best friends. Craning her neck, she could see a goblet that looked suspiciously just like the one from their fourth year. She made a note to ask the organizers if it was the same one, after everything was finished. She was happy to see some of their old classmates, and noted that they were all mixing with the different houses, a hubbub of conversation filling her ehars. She was about to go over and say hello to a few ravenclaws when Professor Flitwick got up on stage and cleared his throat, looking around at the crowd affectionately.

"Welcome, all of you!" He squeaked. "We are now ready to start tonight's proceedings."

"Does this sound like an auction to you, or is it just me?" Harry muttered in her ear, Hermione nodded her agreement, a dry smile twisting on her face.

"Now, when I call your name in no particular order, mind you, the cauldron will light up, and, as you will all remember from your fourth year, a piece of paper will arise from the fire with the name of your Match written upon it. From there, both you and your Match will be automatically apparated to a private room, in which you will be able to meet, discuss your percieved compatibilities and go through with an appeal process if necessary. Now, let us begin!" The silence seemed strangely loud as Flitwick adjusted his glasses, then found the first name on his list.

"Ah! Neville Longbottom!" Hermione spied Neville standing a few feet away with Seamus and Dean, looking nervous.

"Is matched to…"A huge golden burst of flames went up, making a few people shriek in fear before subsiding into nervous giggles.

"Hannah Abbot!" Flitwick exclaimed, and Hannah, who was standing next to him, looked relieved, and a few people cheered as they exchanged a kiss before both were apparated away with a pop.

"Oh, I'm so glad they're matched," Ginny said, smiling. Ron blinked.

"Wait. Neville and Hannah were dating?" Hermione rolled her eyes, unsurprised that Ron was still living under a Quidditch-imposed rock. As Flitwick called out more names, Hermione was relieved to see that nobody was getting Splinched, meaning she had done that part of her job right. She was so nervous. Some of the matches, like Neville's, seemed completely perfect, but others had made her raise an eyebrow. How good was the goblet, anyway? And how easy was it to fool? She wondered.

"Ron Weasley," Flitwick announced, and Ron went completely frozen. "Is matched to…"He caught the floating piece of parchment, and cleared his throat. "Lavender Brown!" Most of Gryffindor House cheered, and Ron beamed as Harry clapped his back and he turned to look for Lavender, but both were apparated away before they could exchange any words.

"Dean Thomas is matched to…Katie Bell!" Flitwick said happily, and Hermione grinned. She'd always thought they'd be perfect for each other, and flashed Harry a "told you so" look, which he pretended to ignore. Everything was actually seeing rather jovial-people were laughing, chatting, placing bets- and the people who had apparated slowly started coming back to see their friend's turns- Ron and Lavender were inseperable, and neither could seem to wipe the grins off of their faces.

"Harry Potter!" Flitwick announced all of a sudden, and Harry's face drained of colour as he grabbed Ginny's hand. The entire hall went quiet, all eyes on him.

"Is matched to…Ginny W-"

"-Yes!" Harry yelled, punching the air, then grabbed Ginny by the shoulders and planting a huge kiss on her lips.

"Eww," Ron complained as most of the Hall laughed or clapped, and both of them apparated away, still seeming determined to suck the other's face off. They re-appeared only a second later- clearly, they'd told the appeal people rather quickly that they could sod off. Hermione was delighted for them, and she could see that neither had ever been happier. After that, Hermione found herself more able to relax. The matches were good. It was working well. The couples getting matched seemed to be perfect for each other, so what did she have to worry about? She could sense her turn drawing nearer and nearer, and tried to calm herself. It was just the not knowing that scared her, the running through all the possibilities of people here she could be compatible with. To be frank, she couldn't think of anyone. Perhaps she was destined for a younger wizard, and that was why his name hadn't been called? She reasoned. She decided not to mention that to her friends, who had already began teasing Harry mercilessly for Ginny being only a year younger- she'd heard the words "crade robber" uttered more than once.

Or perhaps the person she would be Matched to went to another wizarding school. Or maybe he wasn't even a wizard? She thought to herself, her heart sinking with the thought. She loved her magic, and she needed a partner who did as well, who was truly her equal. As more and more people became matched, she found that her insecurities about herself greatened. She knew the mean things people said about her- that she was too clever for her own good, that she was destined to die, old and alone, a spinster, because nobody liked a know-it all. But she had other qualities apart from her brains, didn't she? She was kind, she was brave, she was honest. Surely there was somebody out there- Hermione cringed at how cliché she sounded- that was right for her?

"Hermione Granger!" Flitwick's voice said suddenly, and she felt as if her stomach had just dropped to the floor.

"Breathe, 'Mione," Ginny whispered. "It's okay." The cauldron rattled loudly, but no flames came out of it. Flitwick frowned, and waited, staring at the cauldron. She heard a few titters from around the hall, and wanted to bury her reddening-face into her hands. Nothing. No parchment, no flame. Absoloutely nothing. That couldn't be more embarrassing. But suddenly, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change. The air seemed to get denser, heavier, and little sparks of electricity seemed to crackle around the room as a rumbling noise filled the large space.

"You feel that?" Ron said uneasily. "Blimey, Hermione, what is this?"

"I don't know," she replied, biting her lip as apprehension built up in her stomach. Suddenly, when the rumbling got nearly ear-piercing, as if a train or an airplane was approaching, the cauldron shot up off the platform and into the air, and a huge burst of gold and silver flames engulfed it for a second. A few people screamed as the fire flashed before their eyes, seeming to stretch out to every corner of the room, roaring, burning, shimmering. When the strange golden smoke finally cleared and disappeared as quickly as it had come, the goblet was standing calmly on the platform, little sparks of magic still running all over it. Flitwick peered out from underneath his hands, which he had been using to shield his face, and plucked a hovering piece of parchment from the air.

"Hermione Granger," he began again, and unfolded the piece of paper that every eye was riveted to. What had caused such an explosion? Who was her match, and why had it been so dramatic? Flitwick paused, and the silence was deafening. Hermione was sure everyone in the hall could hear her heart pounding.

"Is-Is-" Flitwick cleared his throat, looking around anxiously. "Is matched to…"He shook his head, but then ploughed on.

"Draco…Draco Malfoy." Hermione's brain didn't even register these words. All she heard were a hall full of gasps as all of her friends turned to look at her, alarm, horror and panic in their eyes.

_Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy_, her brain repeated over and over again_. Hermione Granger, you are matched to…Draco Malfoy. _Her mind had just barely began to comprehend the enormity of what that meant when she felt the sudden, horrible feeling of Apparation as her surroundings blurred, distorting rapidly until they darkened into nothing.

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**So the Draco/Hermione meeting next chapter, plus the appeal thing-y. Mid-week update, I promise! If you liked it, please review this chap!**

**WideEyedDreamer xx**


	5. Lost

**Yay for quick updates and lots of yelling/screaming Dramione drama...Woo!**

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What seemed like a horrifying eternity was, in actual fact, only a few seconds. Hermione landed in the small, well-lit room with a crash and stumbled, her legs weak from shock and nausea. She hit the wall of the room, hard-or, at least, she assumed it was the wall, until it fell over, as well. She groaned, blinking her eyes open in time to see-

Malfoy. She was lying on top of Malfoy. A part of her told her that it was only logical- after all, they'd apparated at the exact same time, it was sensible they'd collide- but the larger part of her decided that karma had a sick sense of humor. She couldn't manage to scramble away from him quick enough, but he helped with that, giving her a strong shove that sent her stumbling, thankfully in the opposite direction.

"Get away from me," he spat, his eyes burning. "How dare you touch me." Hermione snorted at his arrogance.

"Believe me, Malfoy, I'd rather hex myself silly rather than have to touch you," she snapped. He got to his feet and advanced on her until he towered over her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"What did you do?" He hissed. "Did you think it would be funny, Granger? A little Gryffindor joke, something along the lines of _'let's see how quickly we can convince Malfoy to rejoin the Death Eaters?_' Joke's over," he spat.

"What the hell do you mean?" She snapped back, sidestepping. His expression hardened as he blocked her path, stepping closer to pin her to the wall between his arms.

"What did you do?" He roared.

"Nothing!" She yelled back, equal parts furious and scared. "I did nothing, alright? You bloody half-wit, Malfoy, do you really think I'd put myself in a situation where I would be forced to acknowledge your existence?" She screamed, rage hazing her brain. He sneered at her.

"Oh, there's no end to what I think you would do, Granger." Hermione was momentarily stunned, but soon regained her voice, hate coloring her tone.

"You vile, slimy, son of a-"

"That's quite enough, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," a curt, familiar voice said from behind them. Hermione's gaze turned from the murderous-looking Malfoy in front of her to behind him, where a familiar female figure, clothed in emerald green and black stood, looking severely disapproving. McGonagall hadn't changed one bit, and under any other circumstances, Hermione would have been delighted to see her.

"Professor!" They both said in unision.

"This is-"Malfoy started-

"Tell him it's-"Hermione began-

"A bloody mistake!" They both finished angrily, glaring at each other. Minerva smiled coolly.

"I do admit, I was a little surprised. But if you would both stop jumping around like children and sit down, we could discuss this like rational adults," he said pointedly, conjuring up three chairs. Malfoy stalked over to one and sat, Hermione did the same, choosing the one the farthest away from him.

"Professor, Malfoy seems to think-"

"It was Granger. She did this," Malfoy hissed. She glared at him.

"Sod off, Malfoy. It's clearly a-"

"Mistake, he said swiftly. A huge motherfucker of a mistake, and it needs to be fixed-"

"Right now," Hermione said firmly, looking up at her old teacher. A strange smile ghosted Minerva's features.

"You know, finishing each other's sentences isn't a brilliant way of convincing me you two aren't compatible, she commented." Malfoy glared at her.

"Are you suggesting-"

"That it wasn't a mistake?" Hermione asked incredulously. Minerva shrugged.

"There are ways to find out. It is very rare the Match lies, and judging by the reaction it had when it Matched you…Yes, it certainly is curious," she mused. "So I take it that you two will be undertaking an appeal process?" Malfoy snorted, muttering something under his breath. Hermione rolled her eyes at his immaturity, and nodded.

"Yes, as soon as possible."

"The feeling is mutual," Malfoy said coolly.

"Ooh, _burn_, Malfoy, I hadn't realized," Hermione snapped back. Minerva glared at both of them, then continued.

"Very well. Normally, a set of compatibility tests are undergone- personality tests and the like- but under these circumstances it may be wise to move on to the most accurate and rapid way of testing. You will both prick your finger-" she handed them each a muggle sewing needle- "and squeeze into one of these-" she handed them each a tiny little disc. "I will perform the incantation and the grade of the match may be discerned."

"The grade, Professor?" Hermione's curiosity got the better of her as Malfoy made a _"shut the fuck up" _grimace, which she took great pleasure in observing but ignoring.

"Yes. You see, the match is designed to pair those with higher than a sixty-percent chance of compatibility. It is possible you two were right on the edge- perhaps fifty eight or nine, and the Match decided to round up." Hermione nodded her understanding, and pricked her finger. Malfoy paused for a moment, and Hermione wondered what he was thinking about the mixing of their bloods. It would be sacrilege to him, no doubt, she thought with a chuckle, but then watched as he made a smooth, short slice across his palm- one that seemed strangely practiced.

"There was really no need for that, Draco," Minerva said disapprovingly, watching the younger wizard use the sleeve of his robes to stem the blood.

"I doubt it will kill me," he said coldly. "But I'll live in hope."

"Now," McGonagall said briskly, ignoring Malfoy's comment. "A low-grade match is indicated by no significant color change, or a change to black or brown. Higher compatibilities are indicated with colors of silver or gold shown." Are you ready? Both of them nodded immiedeately. With that, she mixed the two discs into a third, larger one, and pointed her wand at the solution. The same rumbling sound from before filled the room, but nothing happened. The disc sat on the table quietly as the blood mixed into one. Nothing. Not even a flicker.

"There," Malfoy said, sounding relieved. "See? It was nothing." He rose from his seat and an extremely relieved Hermione followed suit, but McGonagall watched the solution with a strange expression. The rumbling got nearer and nearer, until it made even Malfoy pause, eyes narrowed.

Do you hear that-suddenly, the table overturned, then shot up, crashing through the low-ceilinged room as plasterboard and paint crumbled above them. The room filled with an intense, blinding gold light for a few seconds and then, as before, faded slowly into a mist.

"What-what was that?" Hermione gasped, looking and Minerva, who was pale-faced.

"Stay there," she instructed them both, and disappeared out of the room. She was back only seconds later with a witch Hermione recognized as the Senior Cursebreaker, an old woman of about seventy whose brown eyes were alive with interest.

"Exploded, you say? Well, that is exciting. That's not been seen in over two hundred years!"

"What?" Malfoy asked. "What's not been seen?" He demanded. The old woman sighed, then smiled.

"Why, a perfect match, of course. A match so true that your bloods, when combined, form one so powerful that the magic can barely be contained."

"That can't possibly be right!" Hermione exclaimed. "We can't stand each other."

"Yes, so is usually the way," the cursebreaker said with a sigh. "However, it does mean that we cannot allow a termination of your match." Hermione's jaw shot open. They were going to…make them go through with it?

"Professor," Hermione pleaded, turning to her old teacher, who sighed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. Believe it or not, this is a good thing." She gave the head cursebreaker a hesitant glance. "I'll let you take this from here. Good luck," the told the pair of them, and swiftly left. Once she was gone, the old lady turned to face them with a fair amount of trepidation.

"Now, dearies, we have protocols in place for these kinds of situations, when you both barely know each other," she informed them.

"We know plenty," Hermione gritted. "Malfoy's a stuck up, arrogant pureblood who is so self-obsessed he lives in the mirror. I'm the bucktoothed, mudblood bookworm. That's not the issue. The problem is we have been arch-enemies for ten years." She flinched, but continued.

"I have already informed your bosses that you will be taking a week's leave of work in order to better get to know each other. You will be undertaking a challenge together. You will be dropped in the forest near a small village with some essentials, and you must find your way back to London within the week."

"What?" Malfoy snapped, his eyes dangerously black. "That's illegal. You can't do that."

"Shut up, Malfoy, obviously they can," Hermione muttered. The woman hesitated.

"I will have to take your wands," she said bluntly. "Part of this challenge is to rely on each other, to find your own way back to London through instinct and using each other's talents. Once you arrive back, you will be assessed and further action can be taken." Malfoy looked flabbergasted.

"You can't take my wand!" He hissed. "And I am not walking halfway across England with some sodding Gryffindor! I refuse."

"Then you will have your wand revoked permanently," she said crisply. "You are a citizen of this country, Mr. Malfoy, and you must follow its rules." Hermione grinned, thoroughly enjoying the fact that Malfoy was getting his arse handed to him for once in his life. She decided to push the fact that she had to spend time in close quarters, wandless, with him, to the back of her mind. Actually, maybe the wandless thing was a good idea, seeing as they'd probably kill each other after a half-hour in each other's company. And that was being generous.

"Enough!" The witch's voice boomed, causing both Draco and Hermione to flinch. "Mr. Malfoy, stop complaining, you sound like a first-year hufflepuff. Ms. Granger, wipe that smile off your face. I was going to allow you to make your own preparations, but you have irritated me. Your journey begins _now_." And with a flick of her wand, the room began to dissolve, and faded into darkness.

* * *

**TWO HOURS LATER**

"Granger!" Malfoy yelled, flailing around with the tent, causing much crashing and bashing. "Granger, come and help me with this, so help me god!" Inside her very snug, warm, cosy tent, Hermione grinned. The wind was howling outside and it was pelting with rain, but she'd managed to utilize her muggle skills to set her tent up within minutes, and was now enjoying the sounds of her arch nemesis struggling outside. Her tent was flung open, and a dark, seriously angry shadow loomed in the doorway as a burst of cold air flew through the tent. Malfoy looked angry—his short blonde hair was wild, his eyes dark, his face pale. He looked freezing, Hermione noted gleefully.

"I'd love to come and help," she said sweetly. "But it's as you always said, Malfoy. Only the strong survive, right?" She mock frowned. "Wow. Perhaps that doesn't mean being a pureblood anymore?" She suggested, and with a grin, turned over in her sleeping bag. She just barely heard him growl before she felt him stalk over to her, and picked both ends of her sleeping bag up, swinging it- and her- over his shoulder. She gasped in surprise as her face hit the cold air outside, and looked up at the man carrying her, deciding from his grimly-set expression that he truly had gone insane.

"Put me down, you oaf," she hissed, and he looked down at her with a smirk.

"Come on, Granger, we both know you don't mean tha-ah!" He yelled, and stumbled, tripping over one of the tent pegs and sending them both to the ground with a crash.

"Malfoy!" Hermione yelled. "You idiot, my sleeping bag is soaked! What the hell is your problem?" She demanded, her temper rising now. For the last two hours, all he had done was sulk and insult her, and by now her nerves were frazzled and her temper was close to boiling. "You could have just asked for help like a normal human being, instead of ordering me around like your slave, and I might have considered it!" She screamed over the howling wind.

"But no, the great Draco Malfoy can't _possibly_ ask for the help of anyone, let alone a filthy little mudblood!" She was screaming by now, her voice nearly hoarse from anger and exhaustion as she used his words from so long ago. To her utmost surprise, he didn't respond, but simply lay there, staring up at the sky, the rain soaking his pale hair to a dark bronze, his thin shirt clinging to his body. He rolled away, his chest breathing heavily as he looked at her with eyes that were surprisingly desperate.

"I'm sorry, all right?" He roared. "I'm sorry I was such a dickhead towards you in school. I'm sorry I didn't help you when you were at the Manor. I was stupid and arrogant and wrong. But for Merlin's sake, Granger, I'm trying to be different, and it's not very fucking easy, so a little credit would be nice!" He roared, sitting up to look at the darkened countryside, still breathing heavily. Hermione gaped wordlessly at the confusing, dark, broken man sitting in front of her. He turned his head a quarter inch, grimacing as he ran a rand through his hair. Hermione could have sworn he heard him chuckle- a throaty, self-assured sound that sounded so in control, so…different to the violent outpouring of words and emotions that she had just heard.

"Fuck. I sounded like the wettest hufflepuff on the planet." Hermione couldn't help a slight smile. _Wait._ She was smiling, at something Malfoy, the Devil's spawn incarnate, had said. Hell was clearly freezing over. Hermione stood with a sigh, knowing she couldn't very well just go back into her tent after he had apologized to her, even if it was about ten years overdue. His apology didn't change the fact he was still Draco-sodding-Malfoy, the cockiest, most irritating person to ever walk the face of the earth, but it showed to Hermione something she'd always guessed about him- that underneath a façade of ice and cold, there was an actual person under there. A person capable of feeling things, what was more.

"Come on, I'll show you how," she sighed. He glanced up at her in disbelief, the rain still dripping down his pale cheeks.

Really? He asked, uncertaintly evident in his tone_. Of course he's unsure,_ Hermione thought to herself. _Malfoy was raised not even knowing the meaning of the word kindness. He was raised to be a machine, to not feel anything, to have no mercy on anyone or any thing weaker than him._ She shrugged, trying to play it off for his sake.

"If you die out here, I'll have to fill out paperwork. So what you need to do is to grab that corner, and run this stick through the-ahh!" She exclaimed as a sudden burst of wind tore the heavy canvas from her hands, snapping the long rod that was supposed to hold the tent up.

"Shit!" Malfoy swore. "That's not good, right?" He checked.

"No," she said dryly. "No, Malfoy, losing your tent is most definitely not good."

"Brilliant. So, what…what do I do now?" Hermione groaned, rubbing her forehead.

"It means that either you run off into the forest chasing a tent, or you…share with me." His eyes widened as they both stared at the tiny little tent, built for one person only.

"Oh, fuck." A few extremely awkward but thankfully silent moments later, they were inside the tent, both lying as far away from the other as they could manage. As he pulled of his cloak, Hermione had to stifle a giggle. Icy grey eyes glared at her.

"What?" He demanded. "Do share, Granger, what part of this situation is even remotely amusing to you?" She didn't manage to stifle the laughter in time as she looked him up and down. He was wearing a black hooded jumper with green writing emblazoned on it, and matching black sweat pants with a green stripe down the side. He looked like a muggle gangster, Hermione decided, which only amused her further.

"You're-you're wearing muggle clothes," she sniggered, watching a muscle jump in his jaw.

"Well, no shit, Granger," he sighed.

"You're wearing sweatpants," she said incredulously, bursting out into laughter. "That's priceless. The infamous Malfoy, camping out in the wilderness, wearing sodding track pants…"She succumbed to laughter, and the realization that under normal circumstances, her observation would not be even half amusing made her laugh even harder.

"Are you mocking me?" Malfoy's voice was incredulous. Hermione sniffed, trying to regain her composure.

"Well, yes, I think I am," she said mockingly, and hear him utter a few choice words under his breath. When her laughter subsided into the darkness, Malfoy's voice made her jump.

"Granger?"

"What?"

"Just because I said I was sorry…Doesn't mean anything, apart from that," his voice said in the darkness. Hermione couldn't help but grin at his tone, which was somewhere between apprehensive and fearful. He might not be a completely evil toerag anymore but he was still a Slytherin to the bone.

"Of course not, O Mighty Slytherin."

"Sarcasm?" He inquired, and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, what do you think, git?"

"I had to ask. You'd be surprised at what some of my fans call me." She could almost hear his smirk, and sighed in exasperation. Clearly, nothing had changed, even though, in some way, absolutely everything had.

"I'm not even going to grace that with an answer."

"Okay," he drawled back, a yawn evident in his tone. "I expect my breakfast to be made by the time I awaken, O Lowly Gryffindor." What the hell? Hermione thought wildly to herself. _Does Draco Malfoy have…a sense of humor? _No. That was impossible. He was trying to find a way to survive the next week of hell, just like she was. And as much as they hated it, each-other was all they had. Anything else, any other glimmer of possibility that Malfoy could be anything close to decent, was simply an impossibility. But then, Hermione thought as she managed to drift off to sleep, judging by the events of today, impossible didn't mean anything anymore.

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**I had such fun writing this chapter ;) I just think Hermione and Draco camping together would be hilarious…And for those of you who might be wondering, the only reason Draco could try to Appeal the Matching process was because Hermione wanted to as well, otherwise the Unbreakable Vow would get him…Just some food for thought. Leave some love! **

**WideEyedDreamer xx**


	6. Guilt

** GUYS! 12 reviews is amazing, I'm glad you liked it. Oh, and kudos to MacaqueAttack713 for guessing through a suggestion what is partially going to happen. Enjoy!**

Draco woke feeling stiff and sore, with his face inches from a musty, wet-smelling canvas. His nose wrinkled, and then he remembered. He was in the middle of nowhere, with Granger. Christ. If somebody had told him that this was where he would be forty-eight hours ago, he would have escorted them to St Mungo's. _Or perhaps put them in there himself_. Either way. Sunlight was streaming in through the cracks in the tent and he squinted, knowing that he would, inevitably, have to get up at some point. A small sound from the opposite side of the tent made him flinch. Granger groaned quietly, muttering incomprehensible things as she slept. Curiosity got the better of him, and he turned over, hoping she wasn't awake. He was in luck- she wasn't. Her face was barely visible under a tangled mass of golden brown curls, but the expression he could just make out was one of complete serenity. He decided very quickly he preferred her when she was sleeping. Or rather, any time when she wasn't talking.

Before he realized it, Draco was studying the sleeping woman in detail. Her features had improved rather a lot since their Hogwarts days, he thought to himself- she had gained some weight and her face was fuller, her skin clear and slightly stained with a smattering of golden freckles and a light blush. Her eyes, though shut tight, were accentuated by long eyelashes and a delicate brow, her fine features that suggested intelligence, kindness and determination framed by tumbling waves of shiny hair. Her lips were looked a natural, darkened pink that no makeup could copy, pursed into what seemed almost like a soft smile. With her features unblemished by stress or irritation, Granger seemed almost pretty. Yes, the Gryffindor princess had grown up rather a lot, he decided, but then caught himself in that thought with horror_. Gryffindor princess? Rather pretty?_ Where the hell had that come from?

Draco shook himself awake, rising too quickly and stumbling out of the tent and into the cold morning air. He cursed McGonagall for doing this. He cursed that bloody senior cursebreaker for scheming up this terrible plan. He cursed Granger for being so bloody…well, Granger. As he stared out at the countryside, he tried to get a grip on himself, to rationalize, to be logical_. Five days. All he had to do was live through five more days of hell, at the most, and then he would never have to speak to her again. _

And although Draco told himself this, in his heart of hearts, he knew that it was not true, and he hated her for it.

**TWO HOURS LATER**

"Just admit it, Granger," Malfoy drawled from behind her. "You are completely and utterly lost."

"I am not," she gritted. "If you would just give me a minute to think uninterrupted by your prattling nonsense, maybe I could-"

"Get un-lost?" He supplied.

"Exactly," she huffed, but then groaned, knowing he had caught her out.

"Well, becoming un-lost would suggest you are lost in the first place. Which you have, up until this point, so vehemently denied, but now acknowledge as true." She could hear him smirking, and her usually-cool temper was very close to fraying indeed.

"Well, if I'm lost, Malfoy, then what are you?" She challenged. "You're following me. I'm lost. You're lost."

"This isn't about me," he shrugged.

"First and last time you'll ever say that," Hermione snapped, and his eyes flashed with amused irritation. She noted that Malfoy wasn't taking himself so seriously. _Why? Because he doesn't want to get eaten by bears, _Hermione's little voice told her.

"This is about you, and your inability to read simple instructions," he said coolly. "Isn't that what muggle men say? That their women are incapable of reading maps or following-"

"Oh, piss off!" She snapped, so loudly that a few nearby birds took off in fright. Malfoy paused in surprise, but then smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim muggle jeans.

"Did little miss Gryffindor just _swear_ at big bad old me?" He drawled tauntingly. She sneered back.

"The _fuck_ I did, Malfoy." Satisfied that he was sufficiently shocked by his goldfish impersonation, Hermione went back to perusing her map. It had been a long time since she'd had to use one, and the symbols and distance scales were rather confusing.

"Okay," she said briskly. "I think I've got it. If we go north-east for another two miles, then we can take a shortcut across there-"she pointed to a large forest- "and camp the night in the forest. Then we should reach that town by the night after, and get a train into London from there."

"The forest?" Malfoy said, arching an eyebrow.

"Scared?" Hermione asked with a little smirk. He snorted.

"Of course not. But it's illogical to camp in the forest when we could go the longer way, and stay in an inn or something. I was under the impression we were trying not to get ourselves killed by wild animals."

"I was under the impression we wanted to get back to London as soon as possible," Hermione said pointedly.

"Forest it is," Malfoy muttered, and there was no further discussion.

As they neared the edge of the forest, Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Oh, no. How had she not realized where they were? The forest's name hadn't been mapped, but she should have recognized it from the surrounding villages. The forest of Dean was the last place on earth Hermione ever wanted to return to, and now she'd be spending the night there, with Malfoy, even more. She steeled herself, trying to get a grip on her raging emotions. She would conquer this. She would not allow fear to be her master. But as they entered the shady, cool forest, her heartbeat began to pick up and she recognized the familiar symptoms of a panic attack_. No,_ she willed herself. _Not here, not now. Just breathe._

"Isn't this where the World Cup was held, back in fourth year?" Malfoy called back, a few meters in front of her. "Forest of Sean, or something?"

"Dean," Hermione managed, fighting the emotions that were attached to this place_. Camping with her mum and dad. The World Cup. The search for the horcruxes. Ron leaving. Getting caught by the snatchers._ Suddenly, Malfoy halted, turning around to face her with a strange expression.

"This is where…" he trailed off, looking lost in a memory. She gave him a look of indifference and walked past him, but within a few strides, he caught up.

"Granger."

"What?" She demanded, a little more angrily than was probably necessary. His face was completely blank of emotion as he gazed steadily at her.

"This is the place they caught you and Weasel and Pothead." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Mmm," Hermione managed, turning to walk on, surprised when a strong hand caught her shoulder.

"We don't have to go this way," he said slowly, a strange look in his eyes. "Not if you're going to freak the fuck out about it."

"I'm not freaking out," Hermione snapped as her chest began to constrict and she felt her face heat up. Malfoy heaved a long-suffering sigh, and, still with her shoulder in his grip, steered her back towards the edge of the forest.

"C'mon. It's not even that much farther," he muttered. "I'm not sharing a tent with you again, anyway." Hermione sighed in defeat, knowing he was in one of those moods where absoloutely nothing anybody said would budge him. Which was pretty much always.

"Malfoy?" She ventured, after a pause of five or so minutes. He didn't turn to look.

"What?"

"Thank you," she said quietly, her face burning, and he pretended not to hear, but his eyes flickered in acknowledgement. The time passed quietly as they trudged along the dusty path towards the town, which came into view at about midday. Hermione was glad for once that her calculations had been slightly off- they ended up reaching the little town by about six in the evening: they hadn't stopped all day, thus covering more ground than she had anticipated. There was only one inn in the entire place but thankfully, seeing as this was the off season, it was only half-full, and they managed to- thank the lord-get two rooms with separate beds.

"So," Hermione said as they reached their perspective rooms. Malfoy sneered a little.

"So, what, Granger?" He unlocked the door and stepped inside. "Why don't you run along and play with the muggles?"

"Not so civil once your life doesn't depend on mine, are you?" Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing. He gave her an over-the-shoulder devil-may-care smile capable of freezing…well, pretty much anything.

"Of course not." He arched an eyebrow. "Why? Did you think we were going to be friends, Granger?" Hermione snorted.

"I wouldn't be friends with you if you were the last wizard in Europe, Malfoy." He shrugged.

"Sticks and stones, mudblood." She flinched as the old insult, which she hadn't heard for so long, packed more of a punch than usual. She quickly recovered herself and gave him a scathing glare.

"I hate you." He shrugged, leaning up against the door.

"Then why are you standing here?" He said coldly, and without so much as a further word, Hermione turned and stomped into her own room, unable to resist the temptation of slamming the door once she was within the safety of its walls.

**AN HOUR LATER **

It was seven thirty, and Draco was hungry. After staring up at the cracks on the ceiling for a good forty minutes, he sighed, realizing it was probably better to-what was that muggle saying? Bite the bullet, and try and find some decent food. He pulled on his long coat and ventures out into the slightly smoky, cold air, searching out anywhere that might sell food. He eventually settled on an Italian restaurant about half a mile from the inn, and although the quality was terrible, the familiarity of the dishes gave him some comfort, remembering the many times he had frequented the Italian restaurants around his mother's home, how he and Blaise and him mother would spend nights sitting up and talking…Blaise. Would he be wondering where he was? Aimlessly, Draco wondered who Blaise had been Matched to. He doubted it was a Veela. More probably Pansy Parkinson, the slytherin girl they had been friends with in school. Blaise had always fancied her. He finished his meal quickly, paid rather too much and decided to take a walk around the town. He had no intention of going back to the inn and possibly having another run-in with Granger. His mood, which was already grim, darkened even more as he thought of her. Whatever attempts at civility they had been making he had shattered within the space of three sentences. His habit of pushing almost everyone away came back when he was uncertain or angry or stressed, and Granger managed to elict all three of those moods from him, simultaneously. Lost in thought, Draco realized far too late that there were people following him, and cursed his lack of observation, especially since he was usually so paranoid about everything, He turned and saw three shadows advancing on them, and although he was certain he was taller than two of them, they were much larger- Draco had filled out, but he was still on the slighter side of things.

"What do you want?" He asked coldly, and all of them laughed. _Christ. How had he not noticed this street was a dead-end?_ His heart was racing. Who were they? Aurors, Death Eaters, drunk =, violent muggles? All three alternatives were problematic, especially since he was without a suitable weapon to deal with a wizard.

"Give us'yer wallet," one of them growled, and Draco smirked.

"Wallet? Can you even spell that, you moron? I doubt you could even figure out how to open one." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he had gone too far. These idiots might have more giant than human in them, but insulting them still wasn't the best way to go when he was outnumbered.

"Get 'im!" The tallest one snarled, and the two others pounced on him. Draco could fight- he'd long since known that physical combat techniques were as useful as wand ones, but he was outnumbered, outstrengthed. He saw the steel bat that one of them wielded far, far too late, and gave a yell, trying to wriggle his way out from under them. Two had him pinned up against the wall whilst he could feel the other one going through his pockets, and he gritted his teeth. What he would give to hex them all into oblivion right now.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of garbage bins, and one of the people behind him gave a yell. Draco saw out of the corner of his eye that they fell heavily, seeming unconscious. A fourth person stood in the shadows, and one of his captors let him go, trying to deal with the attacker. Draco craned his head to see the shorter person strike out with lethal speed, outmaneuvering the larger opponent within four or five moves. Draco went cold. Who was this? A person who could fight like that was capable of killing. Draco had come to terms with his past, but he was fully aware that there were still people-people like this one-who wanted to hurt him very, very badly. He had escaped the cauldron, and landed in the fire.

"Scat," I cold voice spat to the final assailant, and Draco was released, and stumbled as the mugger ran off quickly, leaving his two friends unconscious. Draco stared at the figure, squinting to make out the features in the dim streetlight. He recognized her red sweatshirt, her hair tied in a ponytail, and his mouth fell open.

"Granger?" He asked, incredulous. "What-what the hell was that? Were you following me?" She laughed, but the normally-tinkling sound was short and abrupt. She raised a bag he decided contained groceries.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said coldly. He scowled, knowing that what he had said probably wasn't the correct way to speak to somebody who had just saved his hide.

"Look," he began uncomfortable. "I should say than-"

"You've said enough, Malfoy," she interrupted, fire in her eyes. "I know where we stand. I'm leaving at six tomorrow." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back down the street, leaving Draco Malfoy behind feeling confused, frustrated and, for the first time in a very long time, somewhat guilty.

* * *

**Thoughts? Questions? Criticisms/Encouragements? You know what to do!**

**Em xx**


	7. Comraiche

**This took a while, but better late than never, right? **

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure what was worse- the endless bickering, or the deafening silence. She had half expected him not to show up this morning, but he'd been waiting when she stepped out of her room at precisely six o'clock, and their day had been completely silent, the events of the night before hanging over them like an uncomfortable, unwelcome cloud. And now they were back to square one- completely ignoring each other's existence. At least the arguing had given her something to think about- some way to put her mind to use. It was interesting, too, because he was interesting, in an irritating, insufferable kind of way.

How when she said certain things his eyes would flash, some emotion would cross his face and when he replied, his tone would shift slightly. She would find herself wondering what had become of him the last two years- what he had done, where he had been. That kind of thinking was constructive. But the silence…it left her open to all kinds of thoughts-thoughts she had tried to block. She thought about what her friends would say when she got back to London-the whispers, the scathing, disapproving remarks- and what would the Order think? Hermione didn't want to be known for anything other than her own reputation- a reputation she'd worked long and hard to establish.

Once again, Hermione checked the map, and judged them to be about a fifteen minute walk from the next village, where hopefully they'd be able to catch a train to London. They had made excellent time today- their awkwardness had made them walk quickly, as if, if they only tried hard enough, they could leave it behind them. It was becoming almost painful, by now. Hermione desperately wished for something, anything, to break the silence, and then, out of the blue as they reached the top of yet another rolling hill, she got her wish.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP,NOTT!" A voice screamed, and both of them paused, making eye contact for the first time that day.

"IF YOU JUST SHUT YOUR MOUTH FOR ONE MINUTE-" another voice roared back. Draco frowned, tilting his head.

"That sounded like-"

"THEODORE NOTT, I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU!" A woman's voice yelled. Suddenly, two people appeared from the forest, clearly bickering and arguing. The taller attempted to grab what Hermione reasoned must have been a map from the shorter, who yanked it back, and it split neatly into two, making both of them fall over quite comically. The girl looked familiar, but Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on who it was.

"Pavarti!" Hermione exclaimed all of a sudden. The girl raised her head, squinting at Hermione.

"'Mione!" She screamed, and sprinted the short distance between them to crash into Hermione with a huge embrace. Hermione had done so much the past three days she was quite certain nothing was impossible; she doubted even seeing Severus Snape having a picnic on the hillside would come as a surprise.

"Oh Merlin, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!" She sighed. "When my name got called with that prick"- she shot Nott, who was slowly trudging up the hill, a scathing glare- "I just about had a heart attack. There was a storm, we got lost in the forest, and then dumb fuck lost his tent-"

"Seems to be a recurring theme," Hermione muttered, watching Draco bristle a little, but then turn to talk animatedly to Theo. Pavarti snickered.

"Yeah. You guys must have had a blast, huh?" She asked, lowering her voice. "Harry and Ron were placing bets when you both disappeared. When I left, odds were three to one Malfoy would get brutally murdered before the end of the week." Hermione grinned.

"Well, there's still plenty of time for that." Then began their descent into the little town below, Hermione and Pavarti at the front, the other two trailing behind. Pavarti and Theo, Hermione mused. She hadn't even known Theo was back in the country- like Malfoy, he had disappeared. She concluded he'd probably been pardoned, as well.

"So, what are you going to do?" Pavarti asked in hushed tones as she shot Malfoy a sidelong glance. "I mean, obviously you can't…you know, go through with it." Hermione shrugged.

"We'll see when we get back to London," she said simply. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Pavarti nodded her agreement. They had reached the outskirts of the town by now, and quickly located the small train station. To the general delight, there was a train due for London at about seven pm-only about half an hour away, they had been fortunate.

"Eww, PDA," Pavarti warned them, crinkling her nose as they went to take a seat at the station.

"PDA?" Hermione and Theo repeated. Pavarti snorted.

"Public display of affection. Don't you two know anything?"

"Shouldn't that be PDOA?" Theo reasoned, the little grin on his face showing Hermione he was only trying to wind Pavarti up. To her credit, the witch ignored it, save for a few choice fingers. Malfoy was still squinting at the couple snogging twenty feet away.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Hermione bit out, shoving past him to sit next to Pavarti. The events of the past night were still fresh in her mind, and she was in no mood to attempt civility with him if he wasn't prepared to return the gesture. Malfoy ignored her and elbowed Theo.

"Look, it's Blaise. 'OI, BLAISE!" He yelled, and one of the young couple glanced up, and both jumped up off the seat and began walking towards them.

"Luna?" Hermione gasped, recognizing the girl. Luna smiled breezily at Hermione.

"Hello, 'Mione. Pavarti," she smiled, giving both of them a wave, but keeping a firm hold on Blaise's hand.

"You and…Blaise?" Pavarti asked.

"Lovegood?" Nott said scathingly. "Creepy-as-fuck Lovegood?"

"Hey!" Hissed Blaise and Hermione at the same time.

"This is fucking priceless," Malfoy said, an actual smile gracing his features briefly. "Zabini, you like her?"

"I'm standing right here," Luna commented, not a shred of irritation in her tone.

"Yes," Blaise returned, giving his best friend a glare. "I like her. She likes me. What about you, Malfoy? You and Granger not had wild and passionate sex yet?" Hermione snorted, Malfoy went so pale he almost looked translucent, and Pavarti covered her giggles with a fierce and totally fake coughing fit.

"No?" Zabini said, looking unabashed. "Oh well. Hate's a good thing. Passionate emotions, you know." He winked at Hermione. "Give it some time."

"Fuck off, Zabini," Hermione and Draco said at the same time. Hermione glared at him.

"Stop doing that." His eyes narrowed.

"You stop. You started it, Granger-"

"And I'm finishing it!" Pavarti said loudly. "No. More. Arguing. You sound like children." Hermione opened her mouth, prepared to make a scathing remark about how Malfoy was still a spoiled little brat, but one of Pavarti's legendary scowls silenced her, and she resorted to glaring at Malfoy fiercely.

"Well, that's really going to work," Nott said dryly. "Yeah, Granger and Malfoy are just going to put aside their differences and go have tea and biscuits and sleepovers."

"I hope you fall under the train," Pavarti returned cheerfully with a slightly worrying black glimmer in her eyes. "Or I can help you with that," she added as an afterthought.

"Please do. Anything at all would be better than this," he hissed, and Draco nodded his agreement.

"Oh believe me, we don't want to be here anymore than you do!" Hermione snapped. "You act like it's us, our fault that you're stuck out here in the wilderness-"

"Probably is," Theo muttered.

"We didn't want this any more than you did," Pavarti yelled, her voice raising volume as the ticket salesman raised his head in interest. "What do you think, you idiots, that we rigged the Match?"

"Probably, yeah," Draco drawled, and both witches turned on him angrily, and he took a step back.

"How dare you-"Hermione began

"Draco Malfoy, you insufferable twat-" Pavarti started.

Sensing an impending explosion, Luna and Blaise looked at each other, and strategically placed themselves in the middle of the fight. Blaise blocked Pavarti and Hermione's access to Nott and Malfoy, whilst Luna struck up a strange conversation with the latter concerning Nargles. None of them even noticed that the train was waiting for them to get on until Luna's tinkling laugh broke the silence.

"Right," Luna breathed. "Well, that was one way to pass the time. Let's go, shall we?"

* * *

The journey to Muggle London took only about two hours, which Hermione decided was probably a good thing. Within even that short amount of time, Luna and Blaise had nearly been thrown off the train for engaging in lewd acts in the bathroom, Pavarti had slammed Theo's hand in a door and he had reciprocated by trying to throw her out of the window- a saga which had made both Malfoy and Hermione laugh the hardest she could ever remember laughing. In fact, Malfoy had laughed so hard as Pavarti dangled half out the window screaming that he seemed to forget he was a pretentious idiot, and Hermione could have sworn she saw tears of actual mirth in his eyes as he clutched his sides. Eventually, after climbing back in the window, Pavarti had seen the funny side of it, too, but not before pushing Theo down a flight of stairs. Once they got off at London it was relatively easy to make their way back to the ministry, and now they were all waiting in a conference room to get their wands back. The senior cursebreaker opened the door, giving them all a kindly smile.

"Hello, dears. I am impressed you thought to use the train. Most of them take nearly a fortnight to find their way." Nobody said anything, but she pressed on with the cheery chat. "Now, how was it? Did you enjoy your little adventure?"

"Worst thing I've ever done," Theo muttered.

"I feel sick just thinking about it," Pavarti added, turning her nose up.

"It was brilliant," Luna said, smiling brightly.

"Like getting mauled to death by a hippogriff," Malfoy's bored voice said. Hermione couldn't resist a smirk.

"That was pretty funny. _"Ooh, Buckbeak, don't hurt me because I'm an incorrigible prat_!"" Hermione mimicked his voice, and the rest of their friends laughed. Draco scowled at her.

"Speaking of buck beaks," he said pointedly, smirking as he bared his perfectly white teeth, making Hermione flush at the memory.

"Grow up, Malfoy," she retorted.

"Would you like your wands back, or shall we see if you can find your way home from Australia?" The older witch demanded, serving to shut everybody up very quickly. She passed them their respective wands, and Hermione's backbone tingled as the familiar sensation of magic rushed up her arm and down her spine, filling her with warmth.

"So we can go?" Pavarti asked, rising quickly. The witch chuckled darkly.

"Oh, no. Sit down, all of you." Uneasily, they did so.

"I realize that this…situation is uncomfortable for many of you."

"Uncomfortable?" Draco hissed. "Fucking unbearable is the word you are looking for."

"Speak for yourself," Blaise muttered, giving Luna's hand a squeeze. The cursebreaker ignored both of them.

"Your matches are all of a silver or higher grade. The ministry has an…initiative plan, should you choose to go through with it. As your living arrangements are no doubt confused, the ministry is willing to offer each pair of you a house of your own to share. They are located at a near vicinity to each other in the higher-end suburbs of London with plenty of space and facilities, and within easy Apparation distance of the Ministry. Your other friends are also located nearby. This is all yours, if you choose to accept the match."

"And if not?" Theo asked quickly.

"If not, there is a two thousand-Galleon tax per year until you are forty-five, per Match member," the witch said coolly. "In addition to this, those of you who work within the ministry will have to leave your jobs. We cannot have employees who are unprepared to embrace what is good for the wizarding world." Hermione's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"You aren't serious," Pavarti said flatly. "That's-that's ridiculous."

"Our world is dying," Miss Patil, the witch said sadly. "This matching process is necessary to ensure our survival, to ensure Magical Europe remains strong and immune to threat. You will each go to your respective prospective houses now. You have the remainder of the week to consider your options. I strongly advise you to think of the positives. The Match is rarely wrong. It would do you all well to remember that both love and hate are blind. I expect answers by Monday." And with a pop, she disappeared.

* * *

A few seconds later, Draco found himself standing at the front door of a large, cheerful looking brick house. Granger was standing next to him, looking just as stunned as he felt. His head was spinning. For once in his life, he had no plan, no idea of what to do next. But he'd be damned if he let it show, and instead led the way up to the door of the large house, reasoning he could pass the time until Monday by trashing the place. He begrudgingly admitted, upon entering the house, that it was nice. A fully modern muggle kitchen, spacious living rooms and dining rooms, a grand staircase. Everything you'd expect from upper-class London. He trudged upstairs, kicked open one of the bedroom doors and swore. The room was spacious and elegant with an ensuite, but what stunned him was that three suitcases were stacked on the floor, and upon further inspection he realized they were his things from Blaise's place. This whole thing was messed up, he decided. The Ministry had finally completely lost the plot. But it was late-nearly ten by now, and they'd walked the entire day- and his eyes were itching with tiredness. He resigned himself to spending the night here, and rather ungracefully, Draco fell onto the large, incredibly soft double bed and was asleep within moments.

* * *

_The tall man's feet made cold, hollow noises on the stone floor as he approached. An eye cracked open. He was pale, his long, blonde hair reflecting in the moonlight, his cold eyes glittering, a cruel sneer on his face. _Draco flinched, struggling against the familiar dream, but it persisted.

_"Crucio," he spat, and another wave of debilitating pain followed. It was crushing, immobilizing, impossible to escape from…_The pain felt so real, he could taste the iron tang of blood on his tongue, feel his muscles straining as he fought the curse, but to no avail. Hate hazed his mind as the familiar black and red eyes swam in his vision.

_"Just do it," the silky, snake-like voice suggested. "Just give in." _

_"Never," a voice spat back. It took him a while to realize the defiant word had come from his own mouth. A high, cold laugh. More pain. Everything went dark then. The piercing sounds of a woman screaming for mercy, the sound of running feet, or men laughing as they called out spells meant only to maim, to torture, to kill…A girl was shaking on the cold stone floor, blood pooling on the ground. The blood wasn't brown. It was red, just like his. Pain. Fear. The stench of death. No escape. The burning pain of the Dark Mark. Horror, hate, murder, rape. All mixed into one until it numbed the mind. Before he died, the pale haired man had time to spit one final, haunting sentence._

_"You'll never escape, you know," he hissed. "You're a part of this. This is who you are!" He roared., before the light faded from his eyes. He ran. Back down the cold, cold corridors, away from the body, away from everything. He could hear the woman's voice. Maybe he would make it. Maybe he wouldn't be too late. He was sprinting now, tearing around the corner to come face to face with-_

* * *

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Draco hissed to himself, blinking his eyes open with a gasp to stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Adrenaline still racing cold in his veins he sat up, wiping his sweaty forehead on the sheets. He would rather have complete insomnia than interrupted sleep. He was wracked with uncontrollable shudders, phantom pain, fear, memories, whatever. None of those words meant anything anymore. They had long ago coalesced into one endlessly terrifying mixture of images that swam to the forefront of his brain the second he closed his eyes.

Frustrated, he swung himself out of bed, surprised that Blaise hadn't come in. Then he remembered where he was. He was in a house with Granger. He cursed quietly. Not only did that mean he didn't have Blaise's friendship and support- he knew perfectly well how soft that sounded, but it was true-Blaise knew him better than he did himself- it meant that he didn't have access to their gym to try and exhaust himself out of the nightmares. He decided to settle for next best- perhaps the kitchen was stocked with some kind of alchocol. Unlikely, he knew, but failing that, he'd try anything else with caffeine. He padded out of his darkened room and inched the door open to hear a quiet moan coming from the adjacent room. Deciding to ignore her, he made his way down the staircase and located-score-a small flask of firewhiskey, which he decided he'd add to some coffee. He heard another groan from upstairs, and then something smashed and there was a yell. Brilliant. This night was just about to get a lot more interesting. He heard the light footsteps on the stairs, and tried to grab his drink and disappear before she spotted him, but no such luck.

"Malfoy?" Her sleep-heavied voice said softly. Her hair was tousled and she was pale in the moonlight, clad in a checkered dressing gown. He gave her a curt nod, trying to pretend that a conversation with her in the dead of the night in an unfamiliar house was completely normal.

"Granger." She bit her lower lip, and knit her eyebrows together.

"I-I hope I didn't wake you," she mumbled, crossing to the sink. He heard the quiet plink of glass in the sink, and she switched the light on. She'd cut her hand quite badly, and he noticed her grip on her wand was trembling, she couldn't manage the incantation. An experience he had had firsthand for nearly two years, but he'd had Blaise to help him. Granger had nobody, and he knew that that could be the most terrifying part of all. Gritting his teeth, he crossed over to her, grabbing her injured hand in his. She flinched, trying to withdraw it.

"Don't. I'll do it," he said, his voice sounding harsher than he had intended. Quickly he muttered the correct healing charm, and she nodded her thanks quietly. He turned away, reaching back for his firewhisky-coffee when a voice spoke behind him.

"What are yours about?" He turned, arching an eyebrow at her question. That was the first time anybody had ever dared to ask that. She didn't back away.

"Blaise told me," she mumbled. "That you-you sometimes-"

"None of your business," he replied flatly, cutting her off with a cold shake of his head. "You don't care." She recoiled slightly, but, true to the stupid Gryffindor bravado, ploughed on.

"Mine are about the war," she said softly. "About the battle, and getting kidnapped. And about what I could have done, what I should have done. The people I should have protected. It's easier to shut it off during the day, when you're surrounded by a world that's pretending to move on." There was a silence, and Draco found himself agreeing with what she'd said. They were all putting on a face, putting on a mask of how they thought it should be, even though in reality, a post-war world was exhausted and difficult. But he couldn't admit that, so instead he shrugged, keeping his face expressionless.

"Okay." Granger turned, her own drink clutched to her chest, and walked back up towards the stairs without so much as a word. Malfoy sighed as he sat down on the couch, and the next words out of his mouth were pure impulse. Or maybe instinct.

"Granger," he called, closing his eyes briefly, unable to rationalize what he was saying. "Would you- did you want to sit down here?" He asked quickly. She shook her ehad.

"No, it's okay," she said softly. "You can stay. I'll go up to my room." Draco gritted his teeth, but decided to take the plunge. After all, how much worse could things get between them?

"I meant…Would you like to sit here, for a bit. With-with me." The flash of surprise in her eyes was obvious even in the darkened room, but her response was what surprised him the most.

"All right," she said quietly, and turned around to sit on the other end of the sofa, staring out at the empty room. Her presence made the silence more bearable, less intimidating. She brightened everything she touched, made things seem more human, more rational.

"It's nice," her soft voice said, breaking the silence. "The-the house, I mean. You know the name on the door_? Comraiche_?" Draco could help a slight smile.

"You're dying to tell me what it means."

"You gonna bite?" Her voice was light and teasing. He rolled his eyes, knowing she would tell him anyways.

"Sure."

"It's Gaelic for sanctuary. A place of safety or asylum."

"Thank you for that useless piece of information," he drawled, the taste of firewhiskey burning pleasantly in his stomach.

"It's not useless!" She protested. Names are important. "They tell you how to feel about things."

"Maybe that's a bad thing," he heard himself saying. "What's in a name, anyway?" He saw her lips pull up into a slight smile.

Like Slytherin or Gryffindor? Good or Evil? Light or Dark? She shrugged. "Maybe you're right. What do those names really mean?" He realized she'd been baiting him, and cursed her. Merlin. The girl should have been a Slytherin. To save some face, he decided he'd play that game.

"Maybe you're right." He was in no mood to argue with her. She smirked.

"I didn't peg you as a philosopher," she said sarcastically and he sighed, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

"I didn't come down here for an existential debate, Granger. I came down here to get drunk on some cheap firewhiskey." Her eyes narrowed.

"You have alcohol?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Surely she was not about to try and tell him off?

"And you didn't share?" She continued, sounding disgusted. Malfoy blinked, but then decided that not much could surprise him right now, and wordlessly tipped half the bottle into her mug.

"I didn't peg you as a drinker," he muttered, eyeing her as she downed the mug rather quickly.

"I'm not," she said, coughing a little. "But the only thing worse than having a hangover is having one alone."

Draco was not about to argue with that.

Neither of them spoke after that. Not about their pasts, or the nightmares, or the Match, or anything. They didn't argue or insult each other, didn't call each other names or fight. They just sat and watched the stars, looked out of the windows at the sights and sounds of London at night, and eventually, he fell asleep on the couch where, for the first time in a long time, his unconscious was not plagued with nightmares and flashbacks.

And that was how he woke, peacefully, calmly, five hours later, lying on a couch next to Hermione Granger in the little _comraiche_ they had somehow, for a tiny moment in time, managed to create.

* * *

**I had fun writing this, which is why it's really long for me. Next UD (hopefully) soon!**

**WideEyedDreamer xox**


	8. Inconceivable

**This update is beyond late, but school is so busy and I just haven't had time. I aim to have the next chapter up by Saturday, depending on how many reviews I get! ;)**

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Hermione flattered herself that she'd done quite a lot in her short lifespan. Travelling magical Europe, breaking some of the most powerful curses in history and helping to destroy Voldemort wasn't really anything to be sneezed at. As a result of all that travelling, she'd woken up in plenty of strange places over the course of her life- the forest of dean, a cold, stone floor somewhere in an Italian church haunted by particularly vengeful ghosts and once or twice in the Room of Requirement thanks to a nervous habit of sleepwalking she'd picked up in sixth year. But she had never in her life woken up in the mid-afternoon on a couch next to a half-naked man with a headache the size of Germany. Hermione frowned as her brain caught up with that thought. _Wait._ Couch? Half naked? That didn't make sense. Her eyes focused on a tall, pale figure taking up the better part of the couch, and her jaw shot open. _Malfoy?_ Hermione let out a shriek, and tried to launch herself off the couch, but her dressing gown was twisted into the side of the sofa, and she landed on the lard ground with a thump and a muffled swear word. Malfoy's steely amused eyes flickered open, and gave her a somewhat scathing glance.

"Are you always so graceful?"

"No," She grumbled, picking herself up. "It's a speciality. Comes in the morning when I'm hungover." She paused at that thought again. :Wait. I'm hung over. What…what happened last night?" She asked, wincing. She didn't remember much. She'd woken up, and come downstairs, and he'd been there…There had been alcohol, and they'd sat on the sofa…And his eyes, his strange, unsettling, haunting eyes, somehow sad in the moonlight. Malfoy chuckled, swinging off the couch (with considerably more grace than Hermione had displayed) and padding into the kitchen.

"Nothing happened, Granger. You had three firewhiskeys and passed out. Don't get your hopes up."

"I think I just lost my appetite," Hermione mumbled. "Permanently."

"Well, well, well!" A voice exclaimed from the doorway. "What do we have here?"

"Blaise?" Malfoy asked incredulously. His best friend smirked at him, then waggled his eyebrows.

"Didn't I tell you that hate was a passionate emotion, Granger?" Hermione flushed, realizing what their situation looked like. Thankfully, she didn't have to say or do anything, as Malfoy happily obliged on her behalf, grabbing his friend's shirt and hauling him towards a corner. Whatever threats Malfoy made didn't fail to wipe the wide smile off of Blaise's face, and he sauntered back over to Hermione.

"Luna sends her regards, by the way. We're only about a street over." He snickered. "Word to the wise, don't go anywhere around here without a Disillusionment charm. Skeeter's stalking the streets for you two. She was going 'round a while ago saying she'd go door to door if she had to."

"She won't bother anyone," Hermione said haughtily. "I have major dirt on her, she'll keep her nose clean." Blaise blinked.

"Goody-Two-Shoes Granger turned into a blackmailer? When did this happen?"

"Since ever," Malfoy muttered. "Do you live under a rock, Zabini?" Hermione shrugged.

"Oh, fourth year, probably."

"Well, fuck me," he murmured, and actually looked a little admiring. "Perhaps there is a little evil-Slytherin in you, after all." Malfoy inhaled his cereal, giving his best friend a scowl worthy of Snape. Blaise, to his credit, ignored it.

"Best get back to Luna. Have fun, kids! Be safe!" Malfoy gave his friend a scary smile that said _"If it was up to me, you would die a thousand painful deaths._ Blaise turned back, and grinned.

"You found the door yet?"

"What door?" They said in unison. Blaise smirked.

"Brightest witch and wizard of our age, my arse. You'll figure it out soon enough."

"Door?" Hermione repeated, puzzled. Malfoy shrugged.

"Probably nothing. Typical Blaise. Shotgun the shower," he called back, and Hermione groaned.

"You take forever. What are you doing, washing your hair?" She called up the stairs, and was flipped off for her trouble. _Ugh, I really need a shower_, she thought to herself. _Or a bath. Yes, a bath would be nice,_ she mused, turning the doorhandle into her room, then pausing in the doorway. This…wasn't her room, in fact, she couldn't remember this room being here ever before. She stared at it in awe- it was huge, with a massive French bathtub in the middle, a huge vanity, fluffy towels and every single bath soap of bubble known to mankind. _Impossible,_ she thought to herself. That…this can't be possible. She found herself banging on the real bathroom door a second later.

"Oi, Malfoy! Open up!"

"Fuck off!" His voice yelled back. "Do you not have any idea what the word privacy means?"

"No! This is important!" The door swung open and he stepped out, glaring at her, his hair plastered to his forehead, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Is the house on fire?"

"No."

"Is Rita Skeeter here?"

"No."

"Is Voldemort here?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy, he's-"

"-Then I see no possible reason anything is more important," he snapped.

"We have a miniature room of requirement." He arched an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" Hermione thought to herself _I need a bath_ and swung the door open, revealing the amazingly luxurious bathroom to them.

"Christ," Malfoy muttered. "That's serious magic." He paused to contemplate it, then frowned at her.

"It couldn't have waited until after my shower?" Hermione rolled her eyes. Whiny idiot. She could tell he didn't mean it, though- he was nearly as fascinated by this magic as she was. He turned to her with a rather evil smile, and bolted inside, slamming and locking the door without even giving Hermione the chance to open her mouth.

"Open up, idiot!" She hissed, and received no reply. Instead, she gave the door (or rather, the wall, because the door was fast disappearing) one good, solid kick and stomped away. Sighing, she took a shower in the considerably less impressive bathroom, and upon seeing a pile of neatly folded clothes, was hit with an idea.

"Accio towel," she whispered quietly, and the towel from the Room of Requirement came sailing into the bathroom. She padded downstairs with an armful of his clothes, and dumped them on the front step. Rita Skeeter might just have an aneurism, if she was hanging around, and managed to catch Malfoy at a rather inopportune moment. She chuckled to herself, and stepped into the steaming shower, losing herself in thought as the hot water worked magic on her sore muscles.

"GRANGER!" A voice bellowed from the hallway. "GIVE THEM BACK!" Hermione fought a grin as he banged on the door. "Where did you- oh _fuck_, in the garden? _Really?" _

"Sorry!" Hermione shouted back. "I really can't hear you, the water's too loud!" Hermione smiled to herself. Perhaps Blaise had been right about the evil thing, after all.

Malfoy was, thankfully, absent when she exited the shower, and Hermione took great pains in ensuring that there were no curses or booby-traps placed upon the house. Satisfied he was not going to try anything (or at the very least, he was in his room sulking or planning revenge), Hermione decided to go any pay Ginny and Harry a visit. Theirs was a house only a block away, and on the way, she couldn't help but let her thoughts linger back to her own situation. What were they going to do? Well, she corrected herself. What was _she_ going to do? She loved her job at the ministry, and to be barred from it would leave her with very few options.

Even more, she was a high-profile witch, and nothing would brand her as a hypocrite more than to not follow through with something she'd had to endorse when the prophet had come asking for her opinion. But a lifetime of Malfoy would be unbearable, insufferable. _Or would it?_ She wondered to herself, breaking away from that dangerous, wayward thought with a shudder as she rapped on the Potter-Weasley door.

"I don't care! I haven't heard anything, we have to go over!" She heard Harry cry resolutely from the inside. As she reached for the door handle, it was swung open and a annoyed, worried-looking, messy-haired Potter was presented to her. His worry was replaced by an expression of relief as he smiled, pulling her in for a hug.

"'Mione! Are you all right? You have no idea how worried we've been. When we found out they sent you off camping with the git…" He trailed off.

"Ron and Harry threw a tantrum," Ginny supplied with a grin. "Bigger than the Last-Piece-of-Birthday-Cake Tantrum of '03." Harry glanced ruefully at his girlfriend.

"There was blood," he informed her, rather matter-of-factly. "Lots of blood. And lots of screaming." Hermione smirked.

"Worried Malfoy might kill me? How sweet," she rolled her eyes.

"Erm, no, more the other way around," Harry muttered, and wheezed when she shoved an elbow into his ribs.

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked. Ginny paled, sitting down in a chair, and Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"What? He's hurt?" Hermione asked concernedly. Ginny made a kind of wailing noise in the back of her throat.

"No…He's fine," Harry said quickly. "It's just that…We hadn't heard from them in a few days and we popped over unexpectedly. Very unexpectedly, if you know what I mean…" With Hermione's clueless expression, Harry uncomfortably elaborated.

"I still don't think they're out of bed yet."

"Oh," Hermione said rather quickly, scrunching up her eyes.

"My poor, virgin eyes," Ginny wailed. "The image of my brother shagging Lavender is permanently seared into my retinas," she said mournfully.

"Anyway," Harry said, changing the subject before Ginny could try to bleach her eyeballs, "what happened with the camping? What are you going to do, 'Mione?" She sighed.

"Camping was better than I expected. But now all we do is yell and fight." Hermione decided to omit the _'we had to sleep in the same tent'_ and the late-night-drunken-conversation bits, mainly because she knew she would never hear the end of it.

"D' you want to stay over here?" Ginny asked. Hermione sighed.

"You know what? Maybe that would be a good idea. If it's not too much tr-"

"Honestly, Hermione, after all you do for us," Harry smiled, swatting her comments away. "Do you good to get away from that plonker for a while." Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you and Malfoy were best mates, Potter?" She said teasingly. Harry looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

"We have an _understanding_. We are not, and never have been or will be, best mates," he clarified. Ginny grinned at Hermione.

"Sure, Harry, that's what you say," she trailed off suggestively. Harry swatted his girlfriend's behind playfully, and she giggled. Hermione watched the exchange happily, but felt a little strange on the inside. Was that what McGonagall had hoped she and Malfoy would someday become? So comfortable that they could trade such light conversation, to tease without meaning it? To accept each-others faults, and love them more for it? No. Of course not, she told herself sternly. That was impossible.

_The only thing was,_ her heart kept whispering. _When you're a witch who helped defeat the darkest wizard known to mankind and most of his followers, you kind of had to believe that nothing was ever impossible...That nothing, no matter how out-of-reach it was currently, was inconceivable... _

* * *

A few hours later, the four of them- a sheepish Ron, sans Lavender, had showed up and, upon seeing Hermione, offered to go and disembowel Malfoy (Hermione had refused the kind offer, saying she was perfectly capable of dealing with Malfoy, and that disemboweling him didn't even make the top _ten_ things she could do to him). They'd had pizza for dinner and were now lounging on the couch. Ginny and Ron were playing a game of wizard chess (she was the only one who could actually give him a run for his money these days), and Harry was consulting Hermione concerning a rather nasty hex they'd found in an old building that multiplied when you tried to remove it.

"-So basically, what you want to do it try and shrink the original curse first, not just try to remove it. One you've shrunk it, then you should cast a counter-hex, and then try to remove it. If it reacts badly to the counter-hex, all hell will break lose, so make sure you've got defensive procedures set up in case the building collapses." Harry was scribbling furiously.

"Got it. If-counter-hex-goes-to-shit-run-for-your-lives." Hermione smiled.

"Something like that." She sighed, a twinge of jealousy that she was only able to talk about it, not be there herself. It was Saturday today, and they expected an answer by Monday. She'd never been so _not_ ready to meet a deadline in her entire life.

"Don't worry, Mione. They won't make you leave, you're the best we've got," Harry offered with a smile.

"Plus, you're the only one in our team who actually bothered to read the book about cursebreaking, so-"A series of sharp knocks to the door interrupted his attempt at consolation, and Hermione couldn't help but feel grateful towards it. Harry had a heart of gold, he really did, but when it came to making people feel better, he was much better at marching up to whatever was upsetting anyone and doing a lot of wand-pointing and yelling until it went away, apologized or died. Ginny rolled her eyes as Harry got up to answer the door begrudgingly.

"Probably another insane fan. We've had a dozen, now that the ministry knows exactly where we live."

"Might not be one of mine," Harry said with a roguish grin. "Half the world knows Hermione kicked Malfoy's ass, it's probably the flower delivery." He swung open the door, and a tall shadow appeared in the light. Harry paused, recognizing the man.

"Malfoy," he said, masking his surprise.

"Is she here?" Hermione heard him hiss.

"She?" Harry repeated.

"Granger, who the fuck else?" Malfoy's voice sneered, and Hermione turned her head, standing up rather abruptly. The atmosphere in the room shifted, becoming thicker, colder. Malfoy stood in the doorway, wearing muggle jeans and a coat, breathing rapidly. For once there was colour in his normally-icy cheeks, and his bright eyes fixed on her with an intense mix of irritation, anger and another emotions she couldn't quite name.

"I-I should probably go," Hermione said quietly, fully aware Ginny was grinning into her cup of tea, and even more aware that Ron was playing with his knight as if he wanted to shove it somewhere unsociable. Harry patted her shoulder, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Alright, 'Mione. See you tomorrow, then?"

"Maybe," she agreed, and with a wave, stepped outside, into the cold night air. The door swung shut behind her and she caught Malfoy's narrowed eyes with bemusement.

"What?" She asked, wrapping her coat around her and heading back towards their house.

"What?" He asked in astonishment. "You disappeared for _hours_, Granger, that's what." Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. He gritted his teeth.

"Not that I was looking for you. It's just that-" he broke off, shaking his head and staring at the road. They walked in silence for a few moments, and for the first time, it wasn't awkward. As they turned down their street, he gave a low hiss, and yanked Hermione down a side street, motioning for her to be quiet.

"Skeeter," he breathed, when she looked alarmed. "Merlin, she's worse than-"He broke off again, this time looking a little frightened by what he had nearly said. They were very close by now.

"Worse than what, Malfoy?" Hermione whispered, feeling a little afraid, though she'd never admit it. "Worse than _who?"_

"Drop it," he growled, sticking his head briefly out of the alleyway, and when he turned back to her, it could have been the illusion of the darkened street, but she swore his eyes sparkled a little bit.

"If we cause a diversion down that other street, we can make it, but we'll have to run," he told her. Hermione smirked her assent to the challenge, slipping her wand out of her pocket. They crept to the edge of the alley, and with a flick of her wrist, a door on the street Skeeter was stalking slammed open and shut, and she turned, her interest piqued.

"Now!" Malfoy hissed, and together, they took off down the road.

"Race you," Hermione hissed, and Malfoy arched an eyebrow.

"You seriously think you could beat me?" Hermione didn't answer, but put on a spurt of speed he matched, then, within a few strides, beat, as they left the alleyway and Rita Skeeter far, far behind. As their door came into sight, Hermione willed her legs faster and faster until she was keeping pace with him, and, realizing that their door was only built for one-at-a-time entry, made a last final attempt to get even a hair's breadth in front, so she could get to the door before him. Clearly, he'd had exactly the same idea, and simultaneously they slammed into the open door, diving inside at precisely the same minute to land in a heap on the mat. Hermione swore she heard him mutter something along the lines of 'overcompetitive', and grinned.

"Hello?" A shrill, grating female voice called from along the street. "Who's there?"

"Quick, the door," Malfoy hissed, and they slammed it shut in a hurry, locking it and drawing the blinds as they sat on the floor, contemplating each other.

"You were never that fast," he said quietly, seeming almost surprised. "I mean, I figured you left the running-and-hitting-things bit to Pothead and Weasel." She shrugged.

"War changed things."

"How did you learn to fight like that?" He asked suddenly, drawing her memory back to the night he'd nearly been mugged. She shrugged.

"It's not like I never knew how to throw a decent punch," she said, reminding them both of third year. He made a face at her. "Who's looking for you?" She replied, her interest piqued with his erratic and nearly-but not quite- worried behavior.

"It's not like I never had enemies," he said softly, yet coolly.

"And so we reach another impasse," Hermione said wearily, pulling herself up and into the kitchen. "There's a letter here for you," she called, tossing the red envelope in his general direction.

"Oh, shit," she heard him curse, and swung around. He was wincing, holding the letter gingerly, not attempting to open it. It was only then Hermione realized what it was: a howler.

"Who sent you a _howler_?" She asked incredulously, a smile of anticipation beginning to form on her face as she pondered the embarrassment that was about to come his way, of which she would thoroughly enjoy observing. Malfoy sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as if readying himself for an onslaught of unpleasantness.

"My mother. You-and me, we…have to go and see her."

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	9. Convenience

**Sorry this took a while, but it's extra-long to make up for the wait! Enjoy & review!**

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Hermione liked making lists. She had one for nearly everything, it made her life feel ordered and sensible, even when in actual fact it could possibly not be more chaotic. She had grocery lists and note-to-self lists, lists of revenge and thank-you's, lists of birthdays, likes and don't-likes, but one of the longest lists was her "Deeply-Unpleasant-Experiences" list. The top five on her list were: 5) Using Polyjuice Potion, 4) Harry's cooking, 3) Pavarti's Singing, 2) Losing chess to Ron and 1) Anything involving Draco Malfoy. So it went without saying that Hermione had, for quite some time now, been considering whether she would have to update that list to specific Malfoy-related incidents, and she already knew which one was going to be top of her new Malfoy-Induced sub-list: visiting said git's mother.

"Believe it or not, Granger, glaring at the clock will not, in fact, make time go any faster," Malfoy drawled from beside her.

"Short of a jumped-up time turner, it's the best I've got," Hermione snapped back as she reclined in her chair, trying to force her hammering heart to slow down. She was trying desperately to repel the memories, the circumstances under which she had last met Narcissa Malfoy…

_Breathe, Hermione. She cannot hurt you. Physically, at least._

_It's different now. Everything has changed. It'll be different. _

And it was true. The circumstances under which they were about to meet could hardly be more different to those of two years ago. Now, she was sitting in an airy, sunny tea-room in the fashionable but not snooty district of Wizard London, waiting for Narcissa to finish a meeting with a client in the next room. That was all the information Malfoy had volunteered, and even then, she'd had to squeeze it out of him, and from his expression, she might as well have been using a thumbscrew on him. _Ah, cue wishful thinking_. There was a brief tap at the door and a timid looking witch appeared.

"Madame Malfoy will see you now," she announced, just a slight French accent present.

_"Will see_ us," Malfoy grumbled. "I have to make an appointment to see my own mother." Hermione bit back a smile at his indignation just in time as they were ushered into a small, cosy living room with a fireplace and a tea set in one corner, and a large, neatly-organized desk with-Hermione had to blink a few times-a state-of-the-art Muggle computer whirring away peacefully. Narcissa was standing in the middle of the room, wearing robes of an elegant, silvery-violet shade that had clearly been expertly tailored to her tall, lithe frame. The woman Hermione observed looked remarkably young, her brow light and clear of worry, observing her with a piercing yet not altogether unfriendly expression. Her son resembled her more than Hermione had remembered- the eyes, eyebrows and mouth were nearly identical- the younger Malfoy, it had seemed, had inherited only coloring from his father.

"Draco, Hermione," she said with an almost-but-not-quite-smile. "Do sit down. We have much to discuss." As they both made to obey, they collided, and Narcissa had to turn and pretend to examine the window in order to keep her smile a secret. Once Draco and Hermione were appropriately seated- Narcissa had produced three separate chairs, thank Merlin- Narcissa turned around and fixed the woman idling at the door with the famously icy Malfoy stare.

"I trust you will remember that this meeting is of the strictest confidence," she said coolly. "If I hear that the _Prophet_ has a word of this, the consequences may be…decidedly unpleasant." The woman paled a few shades, nodded, and shut the door quickly behind her. Hermione raised an eyebrow fractionally at Malfoy, who gave a slight smirk in response.

"I trust you are both well," Narcissa said, and this time her smile could not be hidden. "Of course, that is, as much as circumstance permits." Neither of them spoke, both smart enough to know that it was not a question that desired an answer, more of a way to diffuse the tension, and bring the proverbial giant in the room to subtle yet clear attention.

"Hermione," Narcissa said with a sideways smile. "Has my son informed you as to what is to happen to the Manor?" Hermione shifted, shaking her head, still far too intimidated by this woman to venture more than a monosyllabic answer. Narcissa cocked an eyebrow.

"It is to become both a school and place of residence for parentless wizard children, of which, I fear, there are many, these days," she sighed. "My intentions-that is, to begin nonverbal magical learning at the age of eight-have yesterday been cleared with the Board of Magical Education. I understand you to be one of the Ministry's top cursebreakers. Perhaps you would lend me your opinion on the defensive coursework frame I am preparing?"

* * *

There was only one word for how Draco was feeling: pissed. He sat in the far-too-comfortable armchair, watching his mother and Granger discuss, at very low volume and high speeds, varying defensive coursework suited to younger wizards and witches. At least, that was what he hoped they were discussing. He knew very well that the sight of two women speaking as animatedly they were usually meant only one thing- very, very bad news for the nearest male, which happened to be himself. But what nearly eleven years of knowing Hermione Granger had taught him was this: once she began to talk about something she knew nearly everything about (which was nearly everything) there was absolutely, positively, no conceivable way to _shut her up._

He knew that her animation and outright passion for the subject impressed and enthused his mother, who had expressed such avid disgust for so many of Draco's former girlfriends, whose only topics of discussion could be found within the horrid, tepid pages of Witch Weekly. _Wait. What the fuck? Granger wasn't his girlfriend. She wasn't even his friend. For many years, he had doubted she was even a girl. But then again, this wasn't any ordinary meet-and-greet-the-parents, was it? This whole thing was majorly fucked up_. Even so, there was no doubt Granger was…different, she always had been. Her cheeks were warm with the conversation and she seemed to glow slightly with confidence, but since her days of being the undoubted know-it-all of Hogwarts, she had mellowed, learned to control her urge to correct people every second of the day, and never brandished her intelligence, it was simply apparent.

"-And furthermore, although I do agree that eight years old is simply too young to responsibly learn such curses, I think that there is much to be gained by beginning the foundations of basic Charms and Defense at an early age." Narcissa nodded, musing over her tea.

"Yes, I suppose you are right, Hermione." She cast a glance at Draco. "But I believe my son is in danger of having his expression stuck in a permanent scowl, if our topic of conversation doesn't change soon." Draco grimaced, well aware of the twinkle in his mother's silvery eyes, and the similarly amused glint in the hazel ones next to her.

"Not at all," he said, doing his best to sound courteous. "I was simply attempting to follow your conversation." Narcissa leaned over and ruffled his hair, and Draco fought not to duck away.

"You are a terrible liar, Draco, especially to me. I will not keep Ms Granger from the intended purpose of your visit much longer." She placed her cup on the table and regarded them both with her intense, stormy-blue eyes.

"Now. What are your intentions? You must reach a decision by tomorrow, correct? And if you decide to terminate this match, you will both lose your jobs." Both of them nodded. Draco found his voice first.

"We signed the paperwork," he said stiffly. "We are both willing to undertake the consequences of our actions. All that is needed is your signature, Mother." She regarded him coolly.

"Is that so." It wasn't a question, and neither of them answered it. "Well, I am afraid I cannot oblige." Draco's head snapped up.

_"What?"_ He asked in disbelief, a little sharper than was necessary.

"I do not have sufficient proof that this is not a suitable match," she said with a slight shrug. "You are both intelligent, capable, strong-willed young people, and I am loathe to allow you to forfeit your respective careers because you cannot put aside your differences. Already there has been a remarkable improvement, I am told, even within just one week." Draco's jaw shot open, and stared at his mother incredulously.

"You…You can't be serious. Mother, you promised," he hissed.

"Draco, do shut your mouth, you look like a bullfrog," she said conversationally. "This is the deal I will make with you. You will accept the Match. You will continue your living arrangements and jobs as they are now. You will function together for a trial period of three months. After this, if you are both still adamant that this is not something you want, you may go your separate ways." Draco stood up, feeling the blood rushing to his head as he realized what was happening. _Three months…Granger…One house…_He shot his mother a scathing glare, and knew he had to get out of there. He turned on his heel without so much as a fleeting glance at the younger of the two witches, and Apparated with a crack.

* * *

Narcissa broke the silence that followed Malfoy's disappearance first with a quiet sigh.

"Yes, I thought he might do that. He always did like to make a scene. Or a dramatic exit." She smiled at Hermione, who attempted, half-heartedly, to do the same.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione ventured. "Whatever this…arrangement is, between you and Malfoy… It is clearly making him unhappy." Narcissa smiled.

"Hermione, I doubt my son has ever been truly happy a day in his life." Hermione sighed, shaking her head.

"Regardless, you…you should not feel obligated to continue this arrangement simply for my sake. My reputation is not worth his happiness." Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

"You speak as if this arrangement would not compromise your own happiness." Hermione flushed.

"Well-No, that's not what I meant," she fumbled. "What I meant was that I-I could probably bear it, if I was certain it was the right thing to do." Narcissa smiled slightly.

"How very Gryffindor of you, Ms. Granger. Your compassion is admirable, and I hope my son can learn from you. I spent a large part of my life watching others, Hermione," she said, her voice a little melancholy. "I know my son very well, and I do think I know what will make him-and perhaps yourself- happy, in the long term. I am not often wrong, but it I am, none of it will even matter, after three months. Can you do this for me?" Narcissa's gaze was steady. "My son is troubled, but not dark. He is a good man, once he's finished shouting and throwing things." She laughed softly, an unspoken question in her eyes. "Will you try, Hermione?" She asked. Hermione took a deep breath, then nodded.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I will try." _Oh God, what have I done?_

* * *

It was nearly dark by the time Hermione got back to their house, having stopped to pick up a few groceries on the way back. The house was dark, and she would have assumed he was gone if it were not for his jacket dumped on the table. Sighing, she put away the few things she had bought and trudged upstairs, knowing that they should probably talk about what had happened. As she reached the top of the stairs, the room of requirement appeared, and curious, Hermione opened it, blinking back her surprise at what she found inside. Malfoy was in the far corner of the room, which had shifted from the beautiful bathroom it had once been to a full-scale gym. He was clad in tracksuit pants and a grey t-shirt, darkened with sweat, and he was proceeded to pound the hell out of a punching bag, completely oblivious to her. His swings were sophisticated and tactical but also had a raw, angry kind of strengths. She noticed that there was blood all over his face and the punching bag, and, grimacing to herself, strode over, using her wand to make a loud snapping noise, breaking his concentration. Angry grey eyes rounded on her and she flinched.

"What?" He demanded, his voice cracked and shaking as he swung back around to slam into the punching bag again.

"Malfoy, stop it," she ordered. "You're bleeding, just stop for a minute." He ignored her, so she used her shoulder to knock him to the ground, and when she stood, he was towering over her, completely furious.

"What is your problem?" He spat. "Would it really be so bloody difficult just to piss the hell off to your stupid friends? Or did they ditch you when they realized how much of a self-righteous busybody you were?" Hermione flinched, but ignored the insult.

"Unless you haven't noticed, Malfoy, we have to talk about this," Hermione retorted. "Not just hit things and yell, and run away from our problems."

"I don't want to talk about it!" He roared. "I'm sick of it, all right? This _cannot_ work. This _will not_ work. So can your idiotic Gryffindor bravado and just fucking admit it, Granger. We hate each other. And no peace treaties or agreements are going to ever change that."

"Look, Malfoy, it's not like I want to be here either," she said calmly. "But we just need to-" He advanced on her until they were nearly touching, and his eyes were no longer filled with anger or frustration- now, they were full of malice.

"We both know why you didn't protest back there, Granger. Because you know that this Matching thing is the only way you'll ever be able to find anyone." He paused, to gauge her reaction, and got none- the witch was frozen, immobile, so he heard himself continuing.

"And even then, they'd be forced to put up with you. It's not like anyone would willingly-" Hermione turned away sharply, willing herself to block out the rest of his words, stumbling backwards a few steps. Malfoy paused mid-sentence, eyes trained on her as she retreated, looking nearly frightened. A cold, very final silence descended thickly upon them as she took the medical tape and antiseptic that had been in her coat pocket, and set them down on the floor. Keeping her eyes trained at the ground, she exited quickly, soundlessly, and he heard the soft click of her door as she went.

He didn't try to stop her, the anger and resentment was still boiling in his blood. Eventually, as his heartbeat slowed and his brain began to work again, his legs bucked from exhaustion, and he found himself staring at the muggle medical supplies she had left, which seemed strangely like a peace offering. He closed his eyes, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he took a shaky breath. As his eyes closed, a pair of large, brown doe-eyes swam before him, wide and bright and nearly watery. Malfoy groaned as he realized what he had said, realized that with only a few words, he had torn her to pieces with practiced ease.

He had been doing it routinely since they had been eleven years old, having been told it was his right, it was what she deserved, but this was the first time that it had ever left him feeling uncomfortable. _Because she hadn't deserved that. Because she was trying to help you, and you were cruel, and cold, and just…mean. _He took another shaky breath, trying to banish her perplexed, bewildered, _hurt_ eyes from his mind, but he couldn't do it.

_Oh, God, what the fuck have I done? _

* * *

Draco didn't sleep that night, which was almost a relief. He knew that if he did, there would be more torture, more memories, more nightmares, because he had given in to his nature today. What he had done to Granger was something his father would have been proud of, and the very thought made him sick. Suddenly, there was a loud thump from across the silent hall, followed by a groan, then a sound of shattering glass. He was on his feet before he realized what he was doing, and padded across the moonlit hall towards her bedroom, warily peering in. Granger was clearly having some kind of nightmare, and she'd shattered the vase on the bedside table, presumably with her fist. She was tossing and turning in her small bed, and with a pounding heart, he decided to approach her.

"Granger," he said coldly, from a few meters away. "Wake up, would you?" His words sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

"No," he heard the witch mumble, her head hidden under a mass of pillows and blankets, but her small frame was shaking. "No, we didn't take it, we didn't steal it-_No!_" She screamed. "Harry-Ron-tell her-tell them-we didn't take the s-s-sword," she sobbed, making Draco's stomach clench unpleasantly as he realized exactly which memory she was re-living. Warily, he eyed her wand, reasoning his reflexes would be better than hers if she tried to lash out at him, and he hesitantly touched her shoulder.

"Granger." He spoke softer this time, and shook her again. "C'mon, it's just a dream." He hesitated, before adding "Please, wake up." A few seconds later, her eyes flew open, sleepy yet very much alert and afraid. She stared at him for a few moments, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the pieces of glass shining in her hair as she fought to control her emotions.

"What-what happened?" She breathed. He shook his head.

"Nothing." He flicked his wand, and the pieces of vase flew back together. They sat in silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say, but neither wanted to move. After a minute or two, Hermione raised her head to stare at him with a strange expression.

"Why do you hate me?" She asked softly, but when he glanced at her, her expression was anything but soft. "Because honestly, Malfoy, I don't have the energy to hate you anymore. I'm tired of it. It proves nothing, it gains nothing, it gets me nowhere. I honestly don't see the point anymore," she finished with a shrug of her shoulders. "So please, do tell, why exactly do you hate me?" She asked. Malfoy sighed, shaking his head.

"It isn't that easy, Granger. Does there have to be a reason? So much has changed. Everything I was ever taught to believe in is now meaningless, and that-that question, it just opens up a shitload of other questions that I don't know how to answer. Perhaps I'm a coward," he shrugged. "But it's easier just to keep things the way they always were." She sat quietly, as if considering that for a moment.

"No, you're not a coward," she said quietly. "The Malfoy I knew at Hogwarts was a coward. He was mean, and arrogant, and prejudiced. _That_ is who I hate. But you, you're-you're changing, and I don't know how to deal with that. It's exhausting, to just keep repeating the same meaningless insults, the same old, same old. Hate as a matter of convenience isn't really hate at all, is it?" His expression twisted into a grim kind of smile.

"No, I suppose it isn't." He paused, fidgeting on the bed. "Look, Granger, about what I said earlier, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean it." She nodded, a slight frown wrinkling on her forehead.

"It's okay, Malfoy. I know," she said quietly. "Malfoy, what-what is the arrangement, between you and your mother?" He sighed heavily.

"I made an Unbreakable Vow," he muttered. Her eyes widened.

"You did _what_?"

"Yeah, I know, it was stupid. Making a vow punishable by death with the most manipulative magical family in Britain-even when you're part of that family-is stupidity without bonds, he said bitterly. "But I didn't have a choice, and I think that's what pissed me off so much. Not having a choice." Hermione nodded.

"So…What do we do?" Hermione said quietly. "What's there to gain, and what's there to lose?" Malfoy shrugged.

"What's there to lose? Try mental health and sanity for starters." Hermione smiled slightly.

"Jobs. Money. Reputation," she continued. "Your mother said we have to do it for three months. I bet we can find a loophole or two in the marriage law by then. If not, we take the fall, pay the tax and never speak to each other again." Malfoy raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"Never?" He drawled sardonically. "Ouch. That _hurts_, Granger." Her lips twitched, giving away her amusement.

"Shut up. Have we got a deal?" Their eyes met, and he nodded.

"Yes. We have a deal. We tolerate each other for three months. Then it's over." And as Draco turned to leave and Hermione turned over in bed, neither voiced what both were thinking: _what would happen if, in three months' time, they didn't want it to be over?_

* * *

** Let me know what you thought! Until next time-**

**WideEyedDreamer xx**


	10. Intuition

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter! Please review, and ****READ THE AN AT THE BOTTOM!**

* * *

Being one third of the Golden trio, after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had gotten used to the staring and gawking done by witches and wizards around her, and the media attention that came with it. But this, this was…Different. People were stopping in their tracks to stare at her as she passed them in the corridors, some awestruck, others with huge grins. _Well,_ she mused,_ it could possibly have something to do with the fact that she was walking shoulder to shoulder with one Draco Malfoy, and, for once in their lives, they weren't bickering or trying to inflict pain on each other._ As they turned into their corridor, Malfoy swore as an owl bomb-dived him, hitting him hard over the head with a copy of the prophet. Hermione decided to find the owl and feed him treats later.

"Merlin, it's started," Malfoy muttered, handing her the paper. Hermione choked on her coffee as she read the headline emblazoned along the top of the paper in huge, black font: _"GRANGER AND MALFOY: BRITAIN'S NEW POWER COUPLE." _Hermione paled.

"Oh, dear." She shoved it back at him, as if it was contagious, and he tossed it with well-aimed precision into the nearest wastepaper basket.

"Ow!" He exclaimed, as yet another owl attacked him. This time, the paper was pink and glossy: the _Witch Weekly_, Hermione realized. She caught the words "_Hermione"_ and "_Draco_" and _"star-crossed lovers", _and when Malfoy tried to shove it at her, she ducked with a shriek, feeling mildly ill. Just at that moment, Blaise decided to come round the corner, grinning widely.

"There's our newest celebrity power couple! Tell me, Hermione, Draco," he began in a falsetto tone. "When was it that you realized you"-he inhaled dramatically-" _loved_ each other?" Once in her life, stunned speechless, Hermione threw the magazine at him, hoping half-heartedly that it would inflict enough paper cuts for him to bleed to death. Draco's teeth came together audibly.

"I will _crush_ you," he informed his extremely amused best friend, who waved off the threat nonchalantly.

"Before you do that, we want _all_ the goss on your crush on the Gryffindor Princess!" Blaise gushed, and then looked pleased. "See what I did there? You said crush, and I-"

"Did you really just use the phrase _goss_ in a sentence?" Malfoy asked with a frown. Blaise winced.

"Erm, yes, I think I did. Someday, my masculinity might recover. Someday. Whenever it does, at least I am comforted to know that yours, my friend, will still be far behind, since it's rumoured the lovely Hermione calls you _Drakey-Wakey_ behind closed doors." Draco's hand strayed to his wand, and Hermione shoved him.

"Don't, it's not worth it," Hermione hissed.

"It is," Malfoy gritted. "It really_, really_ is."

"If we kill Blaise, we'll get fired. And the whole point of _this_ was that we didn't want to get fired, remember?" He scowled at her logic.

"It's too early to be reasonable, Granger."

"And besides," Hermione said, sounding very put out, "I would _never_ call _anyone_ such a sickeningly horrid nickname." Blaise winked.

"Not even your 'lil Drakey here?" Upon instinct, Draco reached for his wand, but Hermione's hand shot out and grabbed it, taking off with a laugh down the corridor.

"You little…Give it back!" He yelled, taking off after her. "Oi, Blaise, help, would you, she's got my wand!"

"Which one?" His best friend called back, to the general amusement of the auror department. "Because you're a great mate and all, Malfoy, but if you think I'm going to fight Granger in a tug-of-war over your wand, you've overstepped the bounds of our friendship." Malfoy decided right then that as soon as three months were up, he was going to take an early retirement. Just as he started gaining on Granger again –and that wasn't easy: he had long legs, but he'd be damned it she wasn't moving hers at the speed of light-there was a roar, and Draco was tackled to the ground with a crash.

"MALFOY!" A very pissed off voice bellowed, and his eyes snapped open.

"What the actual _fuck_, Weasel?" He yelled, grabbing the other man's shoulders and fairly throwing him off him. He crashed into a secretary and then the opposite wall, but then stumbled towards Malfoy again, swinging a punch Draco easily deflected.

"If you dare hurt Hermione, Harry, Ginny and I will feed you live to a bloodthirsty gang of goblins," Weasel hissed. Draco's eyes snapped to the Idiot-Who-Lived, who gave a shrug, as if to say _"Not my choice of methods, but it's true, watch out"_ and Malfoy sneered.

"I hope you realize how pathetic you sound, Weasel. Granger is more than capable of looking after herself." Weasel's eyes narrowed.

"I know that, dumb fuck, but you're a slimy, evil little toad, and you'd better watch out." He noticed that Granger was standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, wearing a very pleased expression, and that the entire Auror department were discreetly or not-so-discreetly watching the famous Specialized Cursebreaking Unit brawl in the common room with amazement and pleasure. Malfoy's eyes narrowed, deciding to deal with the problem at hand first.

"Watch your mouth, slug. I will make it as simple as I can for you to understand, he said calmly. I have no intention whatsoever of harming Her-" he swallowed hard, realizing with _an oh holy fuck _moment that he had nearly called Granger _Hermione_- but then finished with a shrug. "Alright? I have no intention of harming her." _Points for him. Disaster averted. _

"Malfoy, Blaise, Potter, Weasely and Granger," Shackbolt's tired voice said. "What did I do that was so terrible in my past life to deserve dealing with a brawl this early, on a fucking _Monday morning?" _His dark brown eyes flashed around each of them, then fixed on Malfoy. "Explain yourselves, please." In unison, they all clamored to provide an answer.

"They're the newest power couple, haven't you heard, Minister?" Blaise crooned. "I was simply the harbinger of good news, messenger of Aphrodite, perhaps, some may say, Cupid himself, devoted endlessly to uniting star-crossed lovers. Although in this case, Hermione and Draco are more like meteorite-crossed lovers, capable of destroying life as we know it should their paths cross too explosively." Shackbolt eyed him suspiciously, clearly weighing his options.

"Remind me to have you drug tested," he said dryly.

"I didn't do _anything_," Granger said sweetly, actually _batting her eyelashes_ at Kingsley, who didn't buy it for one second, thank Merlin. The expression Granger wore was of complete and utter innocence, she looked every inch the Gryffindor Princess, and everything about her too-good aura made Draco's-and clearly, every other man's instincts scream _"she's planning to murder, RUN THE FUCK AWAY!" _

"I did nothing," Potter chimed in. "Absolutely _nothing_."

"Somehow, I find that incredibly difficult to believe," Shackbolt muttered. "When have you been not _somehow_ involved in any shitstorm to take place in your _entire life_, Potter?" The dark haired wizard considered this, and then shrugged.

"That's true, I suppose. Alright, all I did was tell Ron that Malfoy was coming."

"Thanks, Pothead," Draco growled, rubbing a bruise on his shoulder where the oaf had tackled him.

"Any time, Ferret," his _not-really-but-kind-of-enemy_ shot back. Kingsley looked at Draco with a hint of desperation in his eyes.

"Please. You look sane. _Ish_," he added as an afterthought. Draco decided not to take that personally, and gave a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

"Granger grabbed my wand, then Weasel tackled me, and it _hurt_," he emphasized in a wounded tone.

"What hurt?" Blaise interjected. "Granger's wand-grabbing, or weasel's tackle?" The minister for magic gave a small sound akin to a whimper of pain.

"You are the reason we have a bad reputation," he told Blaise reproachfully. Draco nodded his agreement, and then continued his story.

"So then he threatened me and so I threw him at a wall-I think the wall's all right- and Granger's _still _got hold of my wand, Minister, make her _give it back_," He finished, and by then, nearly every person in the room was fighting a smile.

"Mr. Malfoy, what you and Ms. Granger do in your private time is not for me to mediate." He turned to Hermione. "I would advise you, though, Ms. Granger, not to do any more wand-grabbing in here. Health and Safety standards, you understand." It was clear the Minister had absolutely no idea of the double entendre, but the rest of the department most certainly did as Granger went pale and Malfoy flushed so hot it was painful. Blaise and Potter managed to pass their laughs off as hacking coughing fits, but only just.

"I hate to interrupt something so thoroughly amusing, but we have an emergency," Pavarti's voice cut through. She brandished a case file, her face looking grim. "We have to go, now."

"Please just get through the day without killing each other," Shackbolt sighed, dismissing them.

"What is it?" Hermione asked worriedly as they made their way to the Apparation site.

"It's an old muggle house we think you-know-who made one of his residences," Dean said grimly. Hermione's stomach sank.

"I thought we got them all," she murmured unhappily.

"Apparently not," Ginny chimed in. "It's seriously cursed. They tried to knock it down and two Muggles were killed. We think it activated some kind of detection charm."

"Meaning?" Harry asked, worry furrowing his brow.

"Meaning that any surviving death eaters will know it's being demolished," Malfoy said grimly, to the team's general horror. Suddenly, Pavarti cursed.

"Son of a bitch, we can't Apparate, it'll raise death eater suspicions. We'll have to take a porkey." All of them groaned, jogging down to the front of the ministry to grab a hold of the nearest porkey.

Unfortunately, as they spotted the innocent-looking roadmap that was the porkey, a bunch of reporters in the foyer spotted them. Even worse, they were from Witch Weekly- and they were renowned for being completely and utterly ruthless. _Just their luck._They were eyeing Draco and Hermione as if they were about to become their next meal.

"Oh no," Hermione hissed. "Go, go, go!" She yelled.

"Hermione!"

"Draco!"

"Look this way!"

"Give us a smile!"

"Or a kiss!"

"Yeah, go on!" Blaise chimed in.

"PAVARTI, HURRY THE FUCK UP!" Malfoy bellowed.

"I'm trying, you idiot, but it has to warm up-"

"Are you in love?"

"When's the wedding?"

"Hermione, are you pregnant?"

"How long have you loved each other for?"

"NOW!" Hermione yelled, and they all lunged for a corner of the paper. Somebody grabbed Hermione's shoulder as the ministry began to spin so fast it was nauseating, until sound and sight became mixed and confused and darkness took over.

* * *

They landed in a pile with a heavy thump, rolling away and coughing. It hadn't been the most graceful of landings, but then again, they hadn't had time to prepare properly. _At least we left those horrid reporters behind,_ Hermione thought grimly, but then her jaw dropped. _Oh, no way…_ Two of the reporters, one woman with bright purple hair and another peroxide blonde, were slowly getting to their feet.

"Hermione! Draco! Just one picture!" The purple-head exclaimed.

"Ladies, we are at work," Harry said tiredly. "And it's essential we proceed very quickly." The admonishment from the Boy-Well-Actually-Man-Who-Lived stumped them for a moment, and the team took that opportunity to turn on their heels and began making their way up the rolling hill towards what looked like a ramshackle old mansion. The sky was darkened, it looked like it was nearly nighttime when in actual fact it couldn't have been more than midday. Hermione spotted a small, decimated graveyard in one corner of the spooky-looking gardens, complete with ugly gargoyles and beady-eyed crows circling lazily. Honestly, it looked as if the place was straight off the set of some terribly bad muggle horror movie, but the fact that, given whose residence it had once been, the horrors inside it had been very, very real made Hermione shiver.

"Smile for us!" The blonde witch squealed, running in front of Draco and Hermione to snap a picture in their face, the blinding light of the flash making both of them wince. As they reached the top of the hill, Blaise rounded on the two pseudo-journalists with a cold expression in his eyes that made even Hermione want to take a step back from him. At nearly six-foot-three and broadly built, he cut an intimidating figure in his dark suit and cold expression, and towered over the reporters with a menacing smile.

"If you two _reporters_ do not get out of our way right now, I will call your superiors and have them know you are obstructing a highly classified, extremely important operation. Furthermore, I will see to it you lose your jobs and have your wand license revoked," he said icily. The two witches took a few timid steps back, and Blaise's eyes darkened.

"_Now_," he growled., and they jumped out of their skins, scrambling over each other to get down the hill and back to the porkey. Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco and Hermione in the impressed silence that followed.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me, I know I'm your savior," he said loftily, a smirk on his face. "But should you feel the urge to show your appreciation, you may kiss my feet. Alternatively, my bank account number is-" as Hermione and Malfoy exchanged oddly unified looks of pain that said _"I really wish we could Crucio him",_ the house gave a low, groaning kind of sound, and the windows rattled.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, sounding unsure.

"I-I don't know," she stammered, feeling oddly vulnerable. "We'll have to go in." They proceeded uneasily, fanning out into a line and casting curse-detecting spells.

"Nothing from over here," Ron called from where he stood in the kitchens, seeming perplexed.

"It's clean in the main entryway too," Ginny said, shifting her weight as a few doors slammed open and closed. A very fine trickle of plasterboard was floating down from the ceilings, and Dean was busy giving a particularly murderous-looking hole in the floor that had most definitely _not_ been there when they walked in the evil eye. Suddenly, Hermione was struck by a thought.

"Guys, wait, we're going about this all wrong. If he used this place as some kind of meeting place, the room with the most dark magic would have to be the one they spent most time in. We need a room big enough to seat them all in. There's nothing down here, and I read that most of the bedrooms upstairs are inaccessible because the floorboards are rotten. They wouldn't have bothered to fix it if there was an easier option, so that leaves-"

"The dining room," Malfoy finished with a tight nod. "She's right." Hermione blinked.

"Can you say that again, so I can record it?" She asked, and he rolled his eyes.

"Your maturity knows no bounds," he drawled. She made a face at him.

"Dining room's this way," Harry called. Pausing at each of the three doorways, every witch or wizard held their breath, feeling the hum of dark magic all around them.

"On three!" Blaise called over the now-howling wind. "One, two, _three_!" As they stepped over the threshold, there was a deafening crack of thunder from above, and the glass from all the window frames burst.

"Start with a standard detector!" Hermione ordered. "Harry and Blaise, find it's strengths. Ginny and Dean, weaknesses. Ron and Pavarti, I want you to tell me how long whatever the hell this is has been here. And we-" she turned to Malfoy- "need to figure out what made this room special, and why it's so dark." He nodded, a single strand of golden light emitting out of his wand.

"The trembling and shaking are aftershocks of powerful magic," he started. "We triggered a defensive response."

"But what was the magic?" Hermione murmured to herself. "What could possibly happen in a dining room- something that happened at a meeting, perhaps…Something special…"

"He made an important plan," Malfoy suggested. "Or met someone important. Whatever it was, he got attatched to it, and wanted to protect it." Suddenly, it clicked in Hermione's head, and she couldn't get the words out fast enough.

"The Horcruxes!" She exclaimed. "This is the place where he made a horcrux. He was in slytherin, I bet it was the locket-or the snake- whichever it was, it doesn't really matter, it just means that those aftershocks are going to get even worse."

"That backs up what we found," Pavarti called. "It was cast a long time ago, with an incredibly powerful wand. Pheonix tail or unicorn hair. Probably phoenix."

"It's strong," Blaise said grimly. "But not particularly aggressive. More protective than anything, really, which is strange."

"Time has weakened it a little, especially now he's dead. It's still going to be a hard battle though," Ginny informed them, her knuckles going white on the grip of her wand as her eyes flashed with determination.

"Alright," Hermione said slowly. "Let's start with a normal removing charm, and test the reaction we get. If he was protecting it, he would have known the Aurors would come some time, and in his time, they worked in groups of four. So four of us should cast at the same time to maximize the optimum reaction. Harry, Dean, Ron and Blaise." She deliberately picked two of the stronger and two of the weaker removalists, with a strange kind of intuition that if this got ugly, which it would, Voldemort would have aimed to take out the top cursebreakers and thus she should ensure that they split their skills.

In unison, all four case identical non-verbal spells at each four corners of the room, and the second they hit the walls, the result was instantaneous. They rebounded with a crack, ricocheting and meeting in the middle with a huge explosion that started out golden and then faded to a green kind of smoke. The walls rattled as they fought to clear the haze, and as it evaporated, all of a sudden, everything was very, very still. For a few heartbeats, nothing happened, and none of them dared to move. That had been far too easy. Then there was a low humming noise, and the green spoke began to spin as the air thickened in intensity, reaching the threshold of pain. At the same time, both Malfoy and Blaise doubled over, then fell.

"Malfoy?" Hermione stammered, approaching the kneeling blonde wizard who was grimacing, a thin sheen of sweat coating his face.

"Get-out-" he managed, turning to look at her desperately as he forced himself to stand despite the pain. "You have to get out. They're coming." Hermione threw Harry a confused glance, but then a cold kind of understanding washed over her, making her blood turn to ice.

"The removal charm triggered the Dark Mark!" She gasped. "He set us up! The Death Eaters are-" she stopped dead in her tracks, trailing off in horror. The shimmering green mist twisted into a darker, blacker kind, forming the dreadfully-familiar shape of the Dark Mark, making both Blaise and Malfoy fight to stay standing once more.

"Harry, we need to get outside. We can't fight in here, the house will kill us. I'll-I'll stay with him." He nodded grimly, and quickly, they moved out. She threw a concerned glance at Malfoy, who was leaning on the table, his eyes closed, perfectly still, jaw clenched. His eyes flew open, startlingly silver.

"You're stupid," he said hoarsely. "Get out, Granger, they will _kill me_."

"How many are there?" He winced.

"Three. Four at the most."

"Come on, we have to go," she hissed, and they navigated their way through the maze of rooms and corridors, well aware that the storm was picking up again.

"Run!" Malfoy yelled all of a sudden. "They're going to apparate inside the house, and once they get in, the doors will seal shut. _GO_!" They spied the front door and bolted for it, but just as they reached for the handle, there was a loud crack, and the knob of the door turned white hot. They stepped back, neither wanting to get their hands burned off, both breathing heavily as they assessed their surroundings.

"It's too late," Hermione said, a dreadful kind of calm washing over her as they stood, back to back, staring back at the house as if it was an enemy about to attack them. Hermione swallowed hard, gripping her wand tightly as she met cold, serious silver eyes. They-they were here all along. They were watching us."

"What?" Malfoy said incredulously, but then the realization seemed to dawn on him, and its enormity hit like a ton of bricks. Hermione took a shaky breath, steeling her nerves.

"They waited. They knew we'd be the last ones out." She bit her lip hard, a shudder running up her spine. "They were_ already here_, Malfoy."

* * *

**HERE'S AN IDEA: Leave me a review saying who your favorite character was in this chap, (or just your favorite character out of the team in general) and the next chapter will be partly written from the winning character's point of view. XTHXBYE!**

**Em xx**


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